


Beautifully Fatal

by Flower_Flame_Princess



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Steve Rogers, BDSM, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bratty Behavior, Bratty Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is the Asshole Boyfriend, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes saves Steve Rogers, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Dancer Steve Rogers, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Innocent Steve Rogers, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Bucky Barnes, Physical Abuse, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Russian Mafia, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Sub Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, dangerous Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flower_Flame_Princess/pseuds/Flower_Flame_Princess
Summary: To every he met, he was a mystery. A dangerous, beautiful mystery.And like a rose, his beauty was beautifully fatal.Luckily, James Barnes had a metal hand, and was not afraid to get cut. He vouched to bare those secrets in ways no one had ever done before, and he would skim the soul of the one they called Blue Angel.Not that Steve was planning on making anything easy for him, but James was determined to make that Angel his.***Or basically that Dancer/Mafia AU that literally no one ever asked for.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 64
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

There was a disquieting aesthetic beauty and grace found in those who had the looks of an angel, but held the underlying threat of a demon of hell.

Like a prince of darkness, playing with light and dark as though they were his puppets. He was sweet as nectar, pure as the everlasting skyline, like a sweet-summer cocktail with a certain bite to it. From angel to hound of hell in a second, and then back again as though nothing had happened. It certainly was an attractive trait, one that not everyone would be able to appreciate, but those with a thirst for danger certainly could.

‘Easy on the eyes’ did not do him justice. His aesthetic was more than pleasing. With eyes blue than the skies and the oceans, tiny stars sparkling in a reflection in the light blue. A ring of silver, sharp like a knife, surrounded the black of his pupil, flowing into oceans waves that seemed to change colors with every twist and turn of his head. Hair like golden strands lay tussled on his head, though with certain order that could not be arranged by simply falling out of bed.

Whenever he passed by, people would hold his gaze for just a split second longer, surprise blooming before he walked on, and they would turn their heads as to look just a moment longer. Strangers would gaze at him when they thought him unaware, and some would even approach him did they feel brave enough. Little did they know the man was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, difficult for any to solve. He was all that you saw, yet he was so much more. Questions were left unanswered, curiosity unsatisfied. To every he met, he was a mystery. A dangerous, beautiful mystery.

And like a rose, his beauty was beautifully fatal.

When he moved it was like water transformed by slow music with smooth voices, flowing in graceful arcs, limbs in constant motion like a hypnotist trying to bring all of his viewers under his spell, painting a picture sound alone could never hope to archive. He was the rhythm to the instruments, the body to the voice, the beauty to the melody. As he danced, around and around, he brought a kind of wordless interpretation of the low beats that drummed through the room, dancing on the soft strings of violins and cellos, in a way that mesmerized any member of the audience, no matter their language or background.

What he did was not simply movement, it was a kind of art that could not be captured by any camera. Cellphones were not allowed anyway, and if one was caught severe punishments would be dealt out. Not that it happened much; the threat was clear the most of the people there knew the rules by heart. With that, many did not want to risk the sways of hips and each alluring twist of a god-like body for some stupid video that would never quite capture the elegance of it all anyway.

The room was much of a lounge, with quite a few people but not too much. There was soft lighting, and a melody loud enough to dance on, but not too loud so it drowned out voices and other sounds. He was not the only dancer, around him there were more platforms where others danced with grace and style. Some of them with a pole, like him, others without. Some scarcely dressed, others covered, though some pieces of clothes revealed more than they hid. He was one of the dressed ones, keeping his body a mystery as was his mind. They were not always happy about that, wanting to see more off than just a jacket, but they were content as long as he stayed. Their pretty dancer, moving like the waves of the ocean.

Through the doors came a man, breathing in deeply as to take in the smell he had missed for so long. Strands of brown hair curled around his jaw, half of it pulled back and tied to the back of his head. Cool, icy eyes took in the scenery around him, popping by the dark lines that circled them. His fingers skimmed across the backs of couches and chairs, his eyes darting around the place that had changed so little in all the time he was away. The couches looked as comfy, the bar as stocked with drinks. There were some new dancers, he noticed, but paid little mind to them. He went for the bar, desperate for a drink that was not cheap or watered down. Gas station Vodka was alright, but it was nothing like he could get here.

"Mr. Barnes!" the bartender said, as his eyes fell on the newcomer, "What a pleasant surprise to see you here! What may I get you?"

He ordered his usual, desperate to fill up his mouth with the taste and feel it burn down his skin in a way the cheap stuff just could not do. It burned, yes, but it had an unpleasant after sting that was not at all enjoyable. The bartender got him his drink rather fast, pushing it forward, and Barnes took a large sip. That tasted good. It tasted like home, a kind of familiarity he welcomed after so many days away.

With the drink in hand, he weaved through the maze of couches and other seats, nodding at a few familiar faces, frowning at a few fresh faces, but made his way over to where he had made his appointment. She was there already. Of course she was. Somehow, she was always a little earlier, though only by a few seconds. Somehow her math in appearing somewhere was so good, that she always managed to surprise those she met. Tonight, Barnes suspected she had been sitting here for a while, as one of the dancers did appease her much, or so she had told him. A blond.

Sitting down next to her, she barely turned her head to look at him, though he knew she was happy to see him again. It had been a long couple of months. He took another sip of his brown-golden drink, as she did of her fancy cocktail, which even had one of those tiny umbrellas. She liked them, for some reason, and often put them in her purse. He had told her many times they had a whole stash of them in the back that she could take, but she never did. She only took those of the drinks she ordered. It was peculiar, but Natasha had stranger habits.

"How was Russia?" she asked, brushing a lock of flame red hair away from her eyes, "Didn’t hear from you for a while so I assumed boredom had killed you."

"It did," Barnes answered, sagging a little on the couch, stretching his legs out before him as he got comfortable. The couches had a nice plush to them, a scarlet red that stroke a vivid contrast with other colors black and white. Mostly black, though. They had a certain aesthetic to live up to. Natasha did so with ease, with her black jeans, black leather jacket, bright red shirt and hair that looked like it was on fire. Barnes was wearing much of the same, though his jeans seemed less tight, and he shrugged off his jacket to put it over the arm rest at his side.

"Well then, welcome back undead James Barnes, as you can see, we held down the fort quite nicely. How did the deal go?"

"Smoothly, aggravatingly so, even. What’s the fun of going to close a deal if the other party agrees with every term you set? With every comment you make?" He looked at his side, trying to catch Natasha’s eyes but she would not. She took another sip instead, the corner of her lip ticking upwards.

"You like challenges."

"There is no fun in getting everything what you want handed to you on a silver platter. It may sound nice, but it gets really boring really fast." He sighed a little, fumbling with the black glove that sat around his left hand. His right hand was bare. "I have talents. I could use them more."

Now, Natasha did look at him, an eyebrow quirked in question, "You already get the nice jobs, James. Most of us have to do with the usual finances, paperwork, stakeouts or waiting around for nothing. You get the fun parts."

James huffed. " _Please_ , when they need someone crossed off the first they pick is you."

That got him a smile. "Such a sweet talker, but we both know that intimidation is more your thing."

"You are one of the most intimidating people I have ever met, Natasha."

"That is because you know me. You know what I am capable of. You think some big meat sack will feel intimidated by a pretty woman in a leather jacket?" Natasha shook her head, pursing her lips a little, "No, I am good at playing vulnerable, let them do the talking. Underestimate me. I’m good at crossing people off. If we need intimidation that does not come through pain, you are the best pick. You love danger."

A smile crawled across James’ face. "That is true. It is the adrenaline, I suppose. It just draws me in, though I’m not quite sure why. Guess I got bored with the same old boring style. Why would you say that?"

"You should see the new dancer," she answered, "The blond one I told you about, a real treat in all the good ways."

Natasha nodded her head towards one of the stages, the one closest by. With lips curled up in a smile, she took a sip of her sweet drink, eyes plastered to whoever was dancing at the moment. It was a tad strange, as they had been talking about something else just a moment ago. With that, Natasha was normally not all that interested in any dancer or person, but she seemed now, and James was curious to find out what made this new dancer special, and what they had done to earn such appreciation from one of the most deadly people that walked the Earth.

Against his expectations, it was not a woman, but a man. It was nothing new, men had danced here before, or brought around drinks, but it was not quite Natasha’s preference. Sometimes men were even better eye candy than women, though that may have been only James’ way of thought. Women were nice, they could be good and enjoyable, but was it so wrong of him to think men did pleasure him well in different ways? In better ways, even? There had been some judgement in his youth, but most accepted it. Or perhaps they only did so because James was not a man they wished to trifle with.

Moving like a silk ribbon in the wind, the blond swayed his body parts in a dance that pulled James in like a fish on a hook. The blond was dancing around a pole, not grinding it or making sexual advances, but rather moving with the grace of a ballerina, a kind of dance that James had not seen often before. It was nothing dirty, though there were some suggestive moments, but most was an honest dance filled with emotion and feeling. It was not some quick jumping and shaking of his butt, it was something serene. Elegance at its finest, and it was a lot more interesting than the other girls.

It was the offspring of passion and grace. How the blond took hold of the slowly spinning pole, using it to float and twist weightlessly around and around again, pulling himself up as though he weighed nothing at all, and James admired the man’s strength. He admired the way the blond poised and balanced as though his entire being was made out of satin and spiderweb threads.

The blond himself was a sight as well, even more so than the dance. With thick strands of blonde hair, and a body that made a Greek god jealous. What Barnes could see were impossibly long legs that paddled around, bending at the knee so easily as the tips of his toes stretched with his feet. The proportion of the blond’s broad shoulders to his narrow, tapered waist were drool-worthy, to say the least. And the way he swayed his hips should be illegal. The man was wearing a long-sleeved, blue shirt that only showed the contours of muscular arms that worked to lift up the rest of the body, and James wanted to run his hands across it, slipping beneath the shirt that should not be there. The blond was wearing sports pants that reached to his ankles, showing off all the curves, the outlines of his thighs, and an ass that James would not mind grabbing.

Though his dance was beautiful, nothing about the man seemed that dangerous. He was muscled and strong, yes, but he had a certain aura of innocence around him. Something gentle. Something… _vulnerable_. It made him even more desirable, probably, but again, James did not quite understand why Natasha was so interested in this one. 

James watched with raised eyebrows how the blond hooked his leg around the pole, effortlessly lifting himself from the ground and spinning in a circle around the pole. Then, he arched his body backwards, lowering his hand as to allow for a deeper arch, and James was wishing even harder for the shirt to disappear into thin air. He watched, unblinking, as the blond held the pole with his hands and released his legs, bringing them out in front of him, and he rocked his hips as he moved them back to the ground.

"You like him?" Natasha asked, eyeing James from the side, "You think he’s pretty?"

"He’s fucking gorgeous," James said back, still not able to tear his eyes away from the stage, "You know who he is?"

"They call him Blue Angel. They keep his real name off the records, he asked for that."

It did not surprise James, a lot of dancers and entertainers asked for that. It was quite common, actually, as most of the dancers did not exactly want to be associated with this type of business, but none of them could deny it paid well. Quite well. Not everyone was allowed in either, as the dancers were in close range of the place business was discussed. They would hate for any of the dancers or entertainers to turn out to be cops, and pass through sensitive information. James did not know exactly the requirements needed to get a job here, neither did he care much, but he was glad this young man had met them.

The blond was perhaps a year or two younger than James, very likely still in college, because James could not quite imagine this being a full-time job. Perhaps it was, and the man enjoyed dancing to entertain a bunch of dangerous strangers for money, but something about him just screamed he was still in school and trying to pay off his debt. Not that James complained even the least about it, he was glad the blond was here. This was a sight he had deeply missed.

"Does he take off his clothes, yes or no?" James wanted to know if waiting for it would be worthwhile, or that he was waiting on a ride to Candyland.

"No," Natasha answered, much to his disappointment, "But I think it makes him all the more desirable. Like a mystery. You can only imagine what is beneath that shirt and in those pants."

 _Yes I can_ , James thought. He sat up a little, stretching his back as he downed the last of his drink. Usually, the dancers were not to be approached. They were here for aesthetic and entertainment, to sell more drinks and get people to come by more often. Some of the dancers offered private time behind the curtain, and James wondered if this Blue Angel did as well. Judging from his whole demeanor, from the pretty face to the elegance of his body, James did not think so. Still, it would not hurt to ask, or perhaps even try.

"He gives no private time," Natasha said, before he could open his mouth, "And I’d be careful to approach him. Or actually, I wouldn’t try to approach him at all."

"Why?" James asked, frowning slightly, "Will the rest get mad or something?"

Seemingly without provocation whatsoever, a smile that promised little good curled up Natasha’s lips, a kind of smug, expectant grin of watching someone getting what they deserved. A kind of excitement for something that James did not yet understand, and he frowned deeper. His friend was not looking at him, but rather straight ahead with the eyes of a predator, keeping something specific in her vision.

"Some poor chap is going to try again," she said, nodding forwards, "This is gonna be great. Watch and learn."

James did. He looked where she was looking, and narrowed his eyes slightly when a man, a little drunk, very bold, was making a beeline towards Blue Angel. One of what looked like his friends tried to stop him, saying something that James could not hear from this distance, but then shrugged and hung back. The man went straight for Angel, looking at him up close for a moment or two, doing nothing but stand there and stare. James was almost starting to get bored when the man reached out his hand when Blue Angel dipped on the pole, and tried to grab Angel’s arm.

Everything that came next happened in the span of a mere few seconds. James expected Blue Angel to reacted startled, to be spooked by the sudden advance of the man, trying to yank back with a scared look on his face, or perhaps even call for help, but that did not happen. Instead, Blue turned his arm as to grab the daring man by the wrist, tightly. Then, Blue twisted the man’s arm to the outside in an awkward angle it was not supposed to bend into, and the man cried out in pain. His cry was cut off by a quick punch to the throat that made James cringe yet feel awed.

When the man was silenced, Blue Angel leaned in, lips moving on words too quiet for James to hear, but that seemed to terrify the other as his eyes grew wide. Then, Angel let go of the arm, moving back to the pole to resume dancing as though nothing happened. The man scurried off, going to grab his coat and leave the club, his friends watching with tired expressions and shaking heads.

"Last week, a guy grabbed his ass and Blue broke his fingers," Natasha said, snapping James up out of his trance, and he looked at her in near shock, "We all thought he was just another pretty face, but the first time someone approached him and touched him without permission, Blue dislocated the guy’s arm and pressed a knife to his throat we did not even know he _had_. Club’s policy is strict though, so he was never written up. Besides," Natasha added, still grinning wildly, "Quick moves like that are only admired around here."

Club’s policy was that the dancers and entertainers were off limits. They were very strict about that, as they were a big source of income, and the dancers were quite expensive. They did not just hire all and sundry; they hired the best. Dancers that moved like swans with appeasing features, who had passed the background check, had signed a non-disclosure agreement, _and_ were alright with dancing for a crowd like them. It was quite something, and the list of candidates got shorter with each requirement, so not much were left in the end.

Pulling a knife here was quite a bold move, but the dancers yielded a certain respect and they were just plain off-limits unless stated otherwise. And even then, they were not to be touched when they were on their platforms. After the first incident, Blue was most likely told not to bring a knife again, but got off with a warning and nothing else. James understood that as well. A pretty boy like him with moves like that? Too good to let go. 

"That is impressive," James said, watching the blond dance with newfound interest, then glancing at Natasha, "I get why you like him. He’s special, isn’t he?"

All that he heard was a scoff, and the other shook her head. "His full stage name is Blue Angel of Death." Natasha turned her head to look him straight into the eyes, an unwavering stare that had him pinned down at the spot, "And he is as dangerous as he is beautiful."

On the platform, Blue moved with the grace of a silhouette cutting through fog and twilight, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, dancing similar to ballet with its long movements and slow elegance, only with a mixture of other cultures that James could not quite untangle, nor did he wish to. It added to the mystery that surrounded Blue like a blanket of the deepest oceans. Danger was something addictive. Danger was like a drug, avoided by those wise enough to stay away from it, and life to those who had dared to try it.

James certainly did enjoy a challenge, and as he looked Natasha in the eye, he told her, "I want him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to put this out here and ask y'all if this would be something you're interested in. I like writing for myself, but it's honestly pretty tiring and like a slap in the face to write a story and have people just not acknowledge it. So before I spend too much time writing a story people don't want to read, would this be something you'd continue to read? Is this an interesting premise? Would you like to see more?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people gave me such sweet comments I can't believe it my mind is flooding with validation, you're all too kind🥺  
> With that many comments of people wanting more I couldn't do anything but give you what you want, so here's another chapter so show y'all I have plans for this story. Thank you guys so much!!

The darkness of a new evening slowly stretched behind the horizon, and the regular crowd shuffled into the club that awoke as night dawned. They came in, one by one, or a few at the time, some in groups, others all by themselves. Lots of familiar faces, like always, as this was a club for the knowing, not for the random youngsters who wanted to enjoy themselves. James had decided to come earlier today; Natasha had told him that the one he was here for would show himself again tonight.

As he entered the club, he took in the smell of strong alcohol, old spice and the undertone of something sweet that he could not quite name, but that was always there when he stepped across the threshold. His gaze shot around for his most desired sight, but his eyes did not catch it. He wondered if Blue had not arrived yet, or if he was somewhere in the back. A sigh flowed passed his lips, and he looked at the redhead, who had arrived just a moment before him, sitting on the red velvet seat. He shot her a questioning look, and she nodded her head towards something.

Following the look with his eyes, James could just catch part of someone sitting in a comfortable chair against the wall of the room. It was an unpopular area of the club, for the dancers were almost out of sight and the bar was far away. Hands coming to up straighten his tie, James moved forward with quiet steps, ignoring the looks and stares he got on his way. Hushed whispers moving like small fires, stares filled with awe and fear in his wake, he was used to it, after so many years.

He moved along the platform of the woman with rainbow hair, who was stretching a little, sitting on the floor as she massaged her calves, calmly waiting for the music to start. Life at the club only really started when the right music was put on, the dancers started, and voices were carried around the room. The club could be entered nearly all day, but it was not until after seven that the place really came to life. Perhaps that was the reason why they called it ‘Midnight 7’.

As he walked, James plucked at his single glove, knowing having only one made him look odd or as though he was trying too hard to archive something, but he was not a fan of gloves. The one he had was a necessity.

It turned out it _was_ Blue sitting in the chair. He was curled up on the seat, legs pulled in to rest beside his body, and he was focused on something in his hands. A sketch pad. In the pool of light that was shed onto his lap, Blue’s hand guided a pencil across the white paper, occasionally pausing to look with a slightly tilted head, thinking his work over before he continued. The way Blue dragged the pencil across the sheet of paper was almost hypnotizing, and James stood there in silence a few feet away. Blue did not seem to notice him, busy with his own work, only stopping to think or brush away the fringe that kept flopping down his forehead like a little kid. Something about it was quite endearing.

It was not time yet; only a few more minutes before the music and entertainment started and James wondered if Blue would get up any time soon. The entertainment was enough to keep a man busy, but not enough to constantly demand attention. The dancers were meant to enchant, to offer calm motions on a music that was meant to fade into a pleasant background noise. They were a way to escape a sucky world, or to have something to gaze at from the corner of your eyes. They were almost decoration, like the plants and the paintings, though James felt like Blue deserved to be so much more.

The way Blue moved had him pulled in like a bee to honey, and he could not wait for it to start again. Those perfect stretches of his body, the twists and turns, the swaying of hips and head. It was hypnotizing, and would make any person look twice. Sometimes, Blue would even flash a smile, and though James could see it was mostly fake, it still managed to put the spotlights on him and only him. It filled him with the selfish desire to claim, to _keep_. To take that boy and have him dance for James and James alone, to keep that smile all for himself, and that body… It was horribly selfish, but James did not care. That boy did things to him.

Even sitting there, so calmly while drawing something that James could not see, he looked like a darling, and James wanted to put him in his own house and have him draw there. The pencil looked old, and the sketchpad used many times, he would need new ones. Blue lifted the pencil off the paper to chew on the end of it, moving it between his teeth and he had no idea how that made James feel.

Blue seemed so small, sitting in such a large chair, hunched over his sketchpad with nothing but focus and attention. The music, voices or clinking of glasses did nothing to him, and neither did James’ presence, a kind of focus that had him lock out everything that happened around him, letting it fade to a static background. James did not want to come too close, content to keep his distance as to not spook the small bird drawing so nicely, and from here he had a pleasant view as well.

It was not long before someone else approached, though, unaware that James was standing right there, watching Blue with a certain fondness and possession in his eyes. It was logical to assume the man had not seen him, or did not know who he was, or the man would never had attempted what he tried next.

"What’s a pretty little thing like you do in a place like this?" the man asked, standing at the side of the studded, leather armchair.

At first, it did not seem as though Blue had heard the man, but when said man leaned forward, grabbing the armrest of the seat, moving himself into Blue’s space, it was clear that little Blue _had_ heard him, as he shifted into the opposite direction. He kept drawing, though, eyes pointed on his sketchpad as he drew something that James would like to see.

"Hey," the man growled, leaning further towards Blue’s face, "I was talkin’ to _you_."

Seeing the wrinkle of Blue’s nose, James could only assume how bad the man’s breath was, and it was high up there. Cheap beer did that, especially when mixed with cigarettes and other cheap stuff. A lack of brushing as well, he supposed, as the man’s teeth were stained suspiciously yellow.

"You gonna ignore me?" the man asked, "You just gonna say nothing and not acknowledge my presence? Huh? Hello?"

The man waved his hand in front of Blue’s face, his voice upped to a condescending tone, as though he was talking to a mentally-challenged toddler. Blue hunched a little more into himself, raising his shoulders almost protectively, determined to keep his eyes on his paper and nothing else. The big, bad man trying to get to the vulnerable, pretty boy, it was a disgusting sight and James was about to step it, pull the man away, let him have a piece of his mind, until the man advanced again.

"Are you stupid or somethin’?" the man asked, his hand reaching forward to Blue’s, "Hello? I’m talking to you!"

Fed up with being ignored, the man snatched the pencil out of Blue’s hand, and that finally had the boy lift his head. The man looked smug for about three seconds, until he caught the glare meant for him, and a sharp pain shot through his hand that had the grin drop off his face. James was taken aback by the sheer hatred flashing through those pretty blue eyes, and he raised his eyebrows when Blue’s own hand shot out to grab the man’s. Blue squeezed his fingers, nearly crushing them, and he forced the man to his knees. Then, bringing the man forward, Blue moved his legs and wrapped them around the man’s neck, turning him halfway as to apply better pressure.

Just like that, Blue had the man in a choking hold, his face bored and plain, but with a certain fierceness that had James lick his bottom lip in interest. The man struggled, hands clawing the air, hitting Blue’s legs, lashing out but hitting nearly nothing. Blue stayed calm, clasping his legs a little tighter and the man turned blue himself. If this would continue for a little longer, they would soon have a dead body in the club, but James could not bring himself to move and help. Somewhere, looking at the man getting what he deserved gave him certain satisfaction.

He did not have to help. A second man, one that had James curl up his upper lip into a half-snarl, and who had his stomach turn in disgust, came up at the armchair. He was snapping at Blue already, who did not react nor seemed to actually hear what the other was saying. Rumlow lay his hand down on Blue’s head, reaching between the golden curls, grasping at the strands as to get a fistful before he moved his hand back with force, yanking up the head. Blue let out a small cry of pain, eyes squeezing closed for a hot second before they snapped open, revealing those vivid blues filled with fight and anger, but he did unwrap his legs from around the man’s neck, and, in turn, Rumlow's hand from his hair. 

"What the hell was that?!" Rumlow snapped, nearly screaming into Blue’s face.

"He took my pencil," Blue answered, his voice somewhat deep and low, but with the lightness of a summer sky. He reached down, arm moving beside the man gasping for air, massaging his hurt throat, and Blue took his pencil from the ground where it had been dropped, running his fingers across the shaft to dust it off.

_Note to self; don’t take his fucking pencil_.

Rumlow did not seem to accept it as a valid answer; he grabbed Blue’s wrist and yanked him up from the chair, ripping the sketchpad from Blue’s grasp. Blue’s eyes widened a little, and he tried reaching for it, to get it back, but Rumlow forced him back, hand still wrapped tightly around Blue’s wrist. There was something about the two, about the fact that Blue broke the hand of someone who dared to touch him, but let Rumlow hurt him like that, that did not sit well with James.

"You get your ass on that platform right _now_ ," Rumlow said, his expression one of murder, "And you keep your hands to yourself this time, do you understand?"

Blue nodded, though he visibly did not like it. "I understand."

With a push, Rumlow showed him the right direction, and Blue padded towards his own platform, making quick work of his stretch routine. In the meanwhile, Rumlow was helping the man who had dared to snatch a pencil out of Blue’s hands, still rubbing his throat and James did not feel even a tiny bit sorry for him. With a small huff, James turned around and went back to Natasha.

It was only when the music had started, and James had downed one drink for dare and bravery, to up his smoothness with liquid courage, that he came up from the red seat and began to approach the platform of the one he had been waiting for. Natasha bid him good luck. Like yesterday, Blue’s movements were like the waves of the ocean, like a grand flag of freedom fluttering in the wind, like a herd of swans performing a dance of love. He moved around with such ease it was almost as though he weight nothing at all. James felt tempted to find out.

There was nothing to indicate Blue had nearly killed a man just a few minutes ago. James could appreciate that.

As the blond arched his body backwards, lowering his hand as to allow for a deeper arch where he stretched to all his capability, shirt pulled tight over a swell of muscles that rippled across his stomach and chest, James stopped before the platform, gazing at the form that danced and flowed before him. Like a bird in flight, with majestic angel wings that fluttered and flapped. Whoever had introduced Blue to this job, James was them eternally grateful, and wished to buy them a yacht or something like that. He would be even more grateful if his plan turned out a success.

The blond hung upside-down now, holding on with his legs, eyes closed shortly before they opened and stole James’ breath right away. A set of piercing, unquestionably intelligent blue sapphire eyes was staring back at him. Handsome did not even _begin_ to describe Blue’s face. James was drawn to the impossibly pink lips almost right away, the color reminding him of a rose bud. The top lip was thinner, but not overly so, and it had a natural cupid's bow; James nearly sighed in content when he saw that plush, full bottom lip that simply begged you to kiss it, to bite it, to lick it, and James wanted to do all that. Long, lush eyelashes that had to be the natural envy of every woman ever closed so delicately over those vivid eyes. Thick, dirty blond hair that was mussed just this little framed his perfect face, with small spikes and curls that had James longing to run his hand through it.

As he hung there, upside-down much like a monkey, only many times more beautiful, Blue did not look as though he was in any danger. Not from James, nor from the risky position he was in, as he could easily fall and crash on his head was he not careful enough. On the contrary. His eyes sparkled with hidden amusement and curiosity, and his lips, so pink and so full, seemed to curl up for a moment, just this slightly. It had barely even been there, nothing more than a twitch of lips in the devious light of the club, and a second later James was left wondering if he had imagined it.

Something about those eyes just screamed ‘feral’. Something hidden behind, like an old instinct that had never truly left the far corners of his mind, but was still very much there. Lurking. Waiting. Visible if one knew where to look. But even though they seemed wild and untamed, they were not threatening. They seemed rather curious, actually. With a small tilt of his head, Blue was now giving James his undivided attention, something James felt good to have, and it stirred a feeling in his stomach.

"Can I help you?" Blue asked, his voice so sweet, yet with a low undertone that James did not fail to catch. A pretty flower with poisonous petals. A silk ribbon with razor-sharp edges. So innocent yet with an undeniable air of threat, and James loved it.

Blue then pulled himself back up without using his hands, grabbing the pole with one hand before slowly lowering his legs, rocking his hips forward in a way that had James let out a small whine and his stomach clenched. Blue did not seem to have heard it, as there was no confusion or strange look whatsoever. There was only curiosity, and a certain sense of cautiousness. James understood; it could not be easy to be approached by some guy almost every time you got somewhere, especially since said men had tried – or even succeeded – to lay a dirty hand on him.

"I practically grew up here," James said, recalling old times when he had been much smaller, weaving between the couches, watching the dancers with wide, innocent eyes, "But I’ve never seen a dancer quite like you."

_One that can snap the neck of any man brave enough to cross him with his legs._

The other took in the words, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks that had not been there before, and James wanted nothing more than to whisk the young man away and have his way with him. He could imagine it already; biting that plush lip, running hands through that soft hair, peeling those tight clothes off his body, kissing every inch of it, tasting that golden skin and feeling those muscles beneath his own fingertips.

"Does that make me special?" Blue purred, with the flutter of his eyelashes that had James go crazy.

_Fuck yeah it does_. Looking in those eyes, so deep and catastrophic, a vivid baby blue like a great body of water with flecks of ice softly melting, it did things to James. He wanted to have his car painted that color. He wanted to have his walls painted that color. He wanted to _own_ that color with all he had and let no one else touch it. He wanted to own those eyes, own those lips, own that face. He wanted to own that angel. He wanted to reach out and touch, he wanted to grab and caress. He wanted it.

"I think you already know the answer to that question, doll."

Then, as though the young man himself was not pretty and infuriatingly endearing enough, he had the gal to run the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, and then pull it in a little to bite down on it. James followed the movement with his eyes, wanting to bite down on that plush himself as well, tempted to lean forward and try to steal a kiss of one so pretty, but he knew the risks. The minimum distance rule had to be obeyed. James had never broken a rule before, and he was not about to do it now. No, he had better ways to get what he wanted.

Somewhere, he felt as though Blue was doing it on purpose. Those slow movements of his long legs, the slight turns and twists of his body, the sway of his hips as he danced, still on the clock, but doing his best to keep his eyes on James. About a hundred possibly scenarios ran through his head, and James was trying to pick out those that would benefit him the most. Ones that would not sign him off as the creep who just wanted to fuck one of the dancers and then discard them like trash. He would have to appear casual, charming. He could win that pretty angel’s heart for him.

"How many tricks can you do with that pole?" James asked then, jutting his chin up in the pole’s direction, "If I were to ask you to do a flip…"

That earned him a smile, a small, amused one, that had James longing for more, for something better. Something eager, something wide, something _bright_. Something that showed a sense of happiness through both his mouth and his eyes. Something that was not half-fake and only meant to be polite, because James had seen more than enough of that in his last months in Russia for a _lifetime_. He has had it with the fake smiles, and the eyes that did not smile along. He wanted something real. Something from Blue. This was a good start, but it would take some pushing and pulling before they got there. James was patient, though, willing to wait and work.

"A flip would be difficult, but I can do other things…" Blue stood at the pole, his side to James, his hips on the other side than his arms. He was holding the pole, then pulled up his legs that were bend at the knees. It seemed like quite some upper body strength was needed for this, but Blue managed just perfectly. He brought his legs up higher, canting his hips as he put one leg on either side of the pole, stretching them out and dipping them lower, his back perfectly diagonal as he hung upside down once again.

"How fascinating," James whispered, watching Blue turn his head as to look back at him. "That truly is something." He leaned in a little closer, eyes interested and open. "Show me more."

It had been a while since he had read the rules of the dos and don’ts of interacting with the entertainers, and even longer since he had actually approached one, let alone _talked_ to one or asked the entertainer to do anything, so he may be overstepping a line here. He did not care about rules, he just did not want Blue to think he was a creep that should be held back and banned from coming here. He did not want one of the muscled guys to force him away, or have the barman bothering him while he was busy.

Focus slipped across Blue’s face, and he grabbed the pole with two hands, seemingly giving in to James’ request, which put James at ease a little. Then he climbed it, like a monkey, with his feet and hands, until he had climbed a little more than his own body length. He curled his legs around the pole, almost as though he was sitting down, then he just let go of the pole with his hands, bending down as to grab the part beneath his legs. He stretched his torso, one leg bend around the pole still, but the other stretched out above him.

Like that, he hung upside-down from the pole with one leg hooked around it at the knee, then he spread his arms to the sides, watching James with the same kind of expectant look a young child calling out to their parents ‘Look! Look! No hands!’ whilst riding a bike. Something proud, something eager, and James was almost sure the young man was fishing – or at least _hoping_ – for validation. It was a neat trick, one James would not be able to mimic even if his life depended on it, so he thought Blue deserved some kind words.

Through his words, he tried hard to stay somewhat cool and nonchalant, but truth be told, it looked really cool, and he was wondering if it would have looked even better had Blue not been wearing any clothes. "You are beautiful moving like that. What’s that move called?"

"Where I learned it," Blue said, grabbing the pole as to untangle himself again, lowering his legs to the ground in slow grace so that he stood on the platform again, "They called it the Hip Lock Walk Down."

"Where did you learn it?"

"The internet."

A small grin crawled across James’ face, and he could not stop the flutter of his heart as he looked at those gentle yet fierce eyes staring back at him, face relaxed and soft, as though Blue was starting to feel comfortable with him around. The slight lines of his face and the feral look of his eyes had slipped away, the cautiousness of trying not to get grabbed or groped fading to the background as no threat showed itself, the eager to please pushing forward, and James– oh, James was pleased. He was pleased alright.

"I think you can guess what this one is called."

Without waiting for an answer, Blue placed his arm high on the pole, then he put his inside leg high on the pole, hooking it behind his knee at hip height. Then he lifted his other leg, moving himself higher up, hooking his knee a little higher than the previous time, stretching his other leg to its full extend horizontal above the ground.

The next moves went quite fast, and James had barely time to process it before Blue was hanging with one hand, both legs at either side of the pole, completely stretched out, and he was reaching forward with his other arm. His body was horizontal to the floor, belly half-down, arm stretched out in front of him, and the move was indeed quite easy to guess. James may not have seen many American movies or cared for comic books all that much, but if he had not known this one, he would have packed up his stuff and moved back to Russia out of shame.

"The Superman," James said, and he could not suppress a tiny grin at how _proud_ Blue looked when he guessed right. Proud at James, but at himself as well, like he had accomplished something new here, something good. James wanted to see more of that, and it was then that he wondered if anyone ever complimented Blue for his skills. He got paid a good amount, but had anyone ever truly cheered for him? Expressed something else than lust and pride?

For research purposes (not because James was actually impressed or anything, honestly, it was not like this blond was not only beautiful and dangerous, but also quite skilled and basically perfect), James decided to test the waters, to see if he could do more with that little need for praise. "I’m impressed, you move with the grace of an angel."

He got the reaction he was hoping for. A rosy blush spread across those cheeks, together with a slight uptick of lips, and the eyes, those magnificent eyes, seemed to sparkle along like a thousand stars in the vast expand of a blue-swirled galaxy. It was beautiful, and James wanted to own it more than ever. He wanted to pluck the stars out of the skies and give them to the young man who now elegantly unwrapped himself from the pole and tilted his body back down, standing on his tiptoes much like a ballerina before he fully lowered himself.

"You are too nice, mister…" Blue looked at him questioningly.

"Barnes, but you can call me James. Nearly everyone does." Though he felt tempted to add a wink, he was still in his research phase, and because he was willing to put good work into this one, he refrained from doing things that may scare the other away. A wink could be innocent and sweet, or it could give Blue the wrong ideas and have him drift off, out of reach from James’ grasp.

"James," Blue repeated, as if tasting the word on his tongue, and James’ eyes darkened slightly, pupils widening just enough to blame the lights of the club. Something about his name rolling off that tongue made warmth pool in his stomach, something needy pressing up his throat, but he swallowed it down, giving Blue his attention.

"That’s right," James said softly, coming up from his seat before the platform. He took a last sip of his drink, downing the last contents of the glass before lowering his arm. "Thanks for the show, doll, I quite enjoyed myself."

Though he was very much aware that Blue’s shift was not over for another hour or two, he also knew that sticking around too much would be creepy and invasive. He would have to play this slowly did he want to keep what he had, and build up from it there. Small steps, testing out the waters, wading in slowly before he would dive under, as he did not want the waves to crash him against the sharp rocks. He would come back later, another day, and start up a small conversation again.

That slight blush was back on Blue’s cheeks upon the compliment, so damn charming that it could melt the heart of any stone-cold bitch, and James smiled back with ease. Then he nodded his goodbye, and made his way over to the bar with an empty glass in hand, as Blue continued his slow dance around the pole. That boy was something, and he wanted him. Wanted Blue like had never wanted anything else.

Any man or woman would be lucky to possess a beauty like that, to call it theirs and claim it, tell other people they were together in a way no one else ever could. Make them jealous, stirring their envy. James would show off his prize, let others know what was his and what they could never touch, Blue was his, and no one would ever be allowed to put a hand on him. He had fought to make that boy his, so he would not let anyone just come close and dirty him up. He would be James’ boy. James’ prize. James’ pretty little thing.

"Blue got you pulled in too huh?" the bartender asked.

James let out a low rumble in response, watching Blue stand and stretch his arms, showing off a whole expanse of chest and abs covered with blue fabric, and James wanted to rip it off, take it away, cut it open. He wanted to reveal that boy to his own eyes and kiss every inch until that angel would lay beneath him all needy and pliant, begging with those pretty lips for James to kiss and touch him, give him what he wanted, and James would do just that.

"He just has that effect on people," the bartender explained, running a quick hand through his graying brown hair, "Had to sharpen the client regulations because they crowded him too much, pretty much swarmed him. Got handsy too. Then Blue dislocated a guy’s arm and pulled a knife, and he broke John’s fingers. No one messing with him after that. They try, but they know I’m watching."

He added that last part with a wink, and James could not help but smile slightly. Coulson may look like an older gentleman, one who would not result to violence all that quick, but he packed a mean punch and was almost as skilled as Natasha, though in a different way. What you saw was not what you got. His mind was clear and focused, working faster than a damn speed wagon, and he had no problem tossing out troublemakers even though he looked so nice and gentle. In James’ opinion, his talents were wasted with bar-tending, as the man was able of much greater things, but he guessed there was a reason for it, though he did not know what.

Knowing Coulson was watching out over Blue, making sure the handsy bags of hormones did not even attempt to approach him with malicious intents, to put their grubby hands on a body that James knew little have had the privilege to discover, soothed the dark displeasure in his chest, and dampened the urge to threaten the life of each who dared to try and claim what was his. Naturally, they did not yet know he had staked his claim. That would soon change.

"He’s not perfect you know," Coulson said then, making James frown and stare at him, "He’s got his share of secrets and scars."

That coaxed out a frown. "What makes you say that?"

"The way he reacts to threats." Though his voice was perfectly calm, Coulson’s eyes were serious as any dead man, as any one man in here who did the dirty work for the ones high up, an unwavering look, "I’ve seen dancers get grabbed before, we let them know beforehand it is almost inevitable, but that there will always be people ready to jump in and help out if needed."

He was talking about the walking pillars of muscles that hung around the dim corners, going around nearly unseen, though they took in everything around them, always watching, always observing, ready to pounce at anyone who dared to break the rules. James had seen them, even had a drink with some of them, they were cool. They were focused and did what they were hired to do, which was nice, and the dancers felt safe with them.

"Usually, when a dancer or entertainer gets grabbed, there is a moment of panic first," Coulson explained, as he took a glass to clean it after one of the clients had put it down, "There is the surprise of being grabbed, a sense of fear slipping in. A very human reaction of course. Adrenaline starts flowing, they yank back their arms, get defensive, sometimes even try hitting. But there is always this moment of shock before it starts. A small silence, some kind of negotiation, even."

"Yeah…?" James knew what inexperienced people did. They tried to defend themselves, tried to bargain, demanded to be unhanded, trying to pull back whatever part was grabbed. When that did not work, they started the fight, with nails or snarls or hands or feet. He was not sure what that had to do with Blue.

"With a lot of you guys, there is no panic or shock, just a brief moment of surprise and then you bargain. Either they let go now, or you will make them, right?"

"Yes."

"With him." Coulson nodded towards Blue Angel, putting the glass away under the bar, "There is neither. He gets grabbed and he lashes out. I have seen all times someone tried to take hold of him. Instead of saying a word, he grabs them back, and hurts them, even pulled a knife once. He does it, just like that. You know what that tells me?"

_That he is a dangerous man and you should not surprise or anger him?_ James thought, though he knew that was not exactly the answer Coulson was waiting for. With a small shrug of his shoulders he asked, "Well?"

"That tells me his instincts are hurt or get hurt. And based on the ease and the familiarity with which he retaliated to that threat, defending himself, I’d say he’s done it before."

"You mean someone hurt him?" Though James hated to admit it, the thought of someone putting a harmful hand on Blue made his chest stir with anger, "What, he got abused by his parents or something?"

"No idea," Coulson answered, straight to the point as always, "All I know is behavior like that doesn’t come out of nowhere, and you don’t learn that at dance school. This is experience mixed with a certain influence of his clouded past. Something has driven him from a kid who likes dancing, to a man who likes dancing but breaks the arm of anyone who dares to touch him."

That certainly put a damper on James’ mood. He ordered a drink, double Vodka, hoping it would lighten the dark anger that had built in his chest. Someone hurting his Blue Angel? Not only was it difficult to imagine, it was also quite infuriating. To have something so pretty, so delicate, and then try to corrupt it, hurt it, laying their hands on something so pure. Perhaps Coulson was right, and something bad _had_ driven Blue from one point to the other.

He remembered the scene of yesterday, how Blue had nearly broken the guy’s arm by twisting it the right way, speaking soft words that had scared the living shit out of that handsy man, making the guy leave the club and James had not seen him back yet. Blue must have learned that somewhere, and for a reason as well. It was no typical self-defense; this was something more. Another secret James was going to try to lay bare only for himself to see.

Perhaps he could have Natasha figure out some of it for him next week.


	3. Chapter 3

The turn of his body was elegant, completely in tune with the slow music that rose from the various loudspeakers spread across the corners of the room. 

Whenever he moved, his dance seemingly eternal in the most exclusive club of New York, he called upon all the eyes so take sight of his hidden treasures and breathtaking mysteries. Yet, there was a soft of harshness to him, the clear, strong kicks of a man who should never be underestimated. His heartbeat was steady, never more free than he was when he danced. It was not quite like he had imagined in his younger years, but it was something that he thought was enough.

This night, however, his attention was not solely in his movements, but rather in deep thought. 

Fluttering around his head like a dainty butterfly, fearing the storm but flying bravely, he recalled the first time he saw James, had his heart fluttered yet again. His heart had jumped back then as well, though right after he had supposed he really did win the prize for most rotten judgement any person could have. He thought he had learned his lesson, that after watching his life crumble down before him, the pieces thrown back at his feet, and that he would not dive head-first into the same mistake.

Really, if anyone was to blame, it was Clint.

Had it not been for Clint, he would not have spent his nights dancing for a crowd. He would not have wrapped himself around a pole and showed off his body that he had worked so hard for. He would not have been groped and broken the guy’s hand before he even realized what was going on. He would not have let people stare at him, seize him up with their eyes, looking at him hungrily as though he was the piece of meat to their inner wolf. He would not have met James. 

The problem was not James' existence, though those haunting eyes did do things to him that he would rather not think about, those lips so charming, curling up so easily as if smiling to Steve was the easiest thing in the world. That was the problem. He had a  _ boyfriend _ for god’s sake! He was in a committed relationship, and his current love was not one who took lightly to him eyeing up other men. So, he never did. He wanted to be good. 

The blame was all on Clint. 

It was his love for art that had driven him this far, as there was nothing more he wanted than to study what he loved. No matter how difficult it would get, he wanted to push through and let his dreams come true. It was hard work, delivering only the best pieces to his demanding program, working hours upon hours to guide a piece he had already put so many hours in towards perfection, but it would pay off. He just knew it would, and that made him keep going. He knew his talents; he could do this.

Because money was not something he obtained easily, being born into a poor family, it was difficult to get into the college that he wished so hard for. Not only did he have to pay for books and equipment, but also for his studies and his home, and at the rate he used to earn money, it was clear he was not going to make it. He took a couple jobs, but none of them paid very well and he could barely keep his head up with all the bills of his classes, his books, his apartment, his food. He was ever searching for a better job, which was what had led Clint to come up at him and blurt out. 

_ "You could pole dance in a nightclub." _

He was not quite certain if he really  _ had _ slapped Clint, or if he just really wanted to.

Dancing was a form of art as well, so there he did win. It was much needed movement for him, something he could put all his energy into, but that would not have him pant the lungs out of his chest. It was the way he could form such beautiful images with his own body. He liked dancing. The slow kind of dancing. The kind that had him arc his body, stretch his limbs, letting them flow like a leaf on the wind. He was quite flexible, which was a big plus for a lot of things.

But  _ pole dancing _ in a  _ nightclub _ .

It was nothing like Steve had prepared himself to hear, yet it was classically Clint. The man who had the most out of this world suggestions, whether it was about a sandwich or a job that could earn him some quick cash. At first, Steve had wanted to dismiss it immediately, but then he saw the salary and he thought it through a second time. And a third time. Dancing a few hours there would earn him more than working a whole week at any restaurant or café, or even worse: retail. He had been skeptical, naturally, because Clint had also suggested drug dealing, so he was not sure if he wanted to get wrapped up in drama like that.

The pole was… well,  _ something _ , but it was not nearly as bad as he imagined.

With a slight smile that was almost honest, he lifted himself up from the platform, curling his one leg around the pole at his knee, letting it take him in a slow circle as he hung there, in perfect position to take an idle look around the club. It was a somewhat quiet night, with few customers sitting around. There was a group of them, all dressed in either the kind of formal clothing that just screamed ‘professional’, or the kind that was dark jeans and leather jackets. There was a difference between the two sections other than their clothing.

The ones in formal suits seemed older– no, they  _ were _ older. They seemed like talkers, the kind that made deals and signed contracts. The ones in leather were younger, feistier, more dangerous. They were  _ doers _ , definitely, the kind you did not want to meet in a dark alley. One of them had jet black hair that reached to his shoulders, and a poison green shit that jumped out from under his dark jacket, sticking out like a sore thumb yet completely fading into the background. He stood out because he was twirling a knife between his fingers without even looking at it.

_ Stop that, Steve _ . With the shake of his head he snapped himself out of his thoughts, a tad annoyed he had caught himself searching around the room for the third time tonight. Sneaking glances to find a certain client whom he had not seen much before. In the month he had been working here, twice a week, the days varied from time to time depending on his own schedule, he had only seen the man on Friday and Saturday last week, but never before that. It was certainly a bit strange, because the man had not seemed to be unfamiliar to the place at all, neither had his choice of words suggested such a thing.

_ "I practically grew up here, but I’ve never seen a dancer quite like you." _

He remembered it as though it had happened merely an hour ago, instead of a whole week, and he did not think he would ever be able to forget. When the front doors had opened, and a new man walked into the place, Steve had only glanced at him shortly like he did with any other as they entered, before his brain had registered exactly what he saw, and his gaze was snapped right back, hands going slack around the pole.

Something was familiar about the man, but Steve could not say what. It was something that nagged the back of his mind, laying at the tip of his tongue but he could not quite figure out what it was, neither was he quite occupied with it. There were other things to put his mind to, and he would not have been able to tear his gaze away even if he wanted to. Not that he did. He was perfectly content just dancing, and keeping the new man in his sights. 

The moment that man had entered, it was as though time had slowed down, and Steve could only stare at the man in the large coat, strolling in ever so calmly. In the lights of the club his hair, growing naturally without the slickness of products, shimmered softly, seeming an even richer brown. It fell just passed his lightly stubbled jaw, giving him an appearance that was both effortlessly handsome and uncontrollably wild. The large, dark-colored trench coat that reached to past his knees swayed with movement, shrugged off with ease and gave it to a man in a suit who took it to the back.

The man was wearing fine clothes that probably cost more than Steve made here in a month. The three-piece suit, hugging his body in a way that had Steve slow his movements in piqued interest, consisted of a dress shirt whiter than snow, a waistcoat pitch black like the night over it, and a black, unbuttoned jacket put on over both. His shoes were polished so well that they shone like mirrors, and Steve wondered if one could see their reflection in them.

With the shake of his head, he snapped himself out of his thoughts. The man was handsome, surely, but if he ran with the crowd in here, then Steve knew it was in a,  _ I’m a criminal and could cut your throat _ type of way. The way he carried himself, the way he stood, the way he looked around the club and people tensed when he passed, it told Steve he was high up in whatever hierarchy they had going on around here. 

The people present in the club had turned their heads, stared, gazes sharp and cautious. A dangerous man, clearly. Everything about him had exuded confidence, something steely and assured behind it. An aura of power, prestige and wealth, something that would lure in most people, and Steve had no doubt he was quite popular. How could he not be? With power and looks like that. 

Still, that did not explain quite why Steve had never seen him before. Perhaps the man only came by once in a week or so, on the days that he was not dancing there. He should not be hoping for the man to return, but he could not deny that he was. Perhaps ‘hoping’ was too big of a word; he enjoyed the man’s presence. It was not like this kind of work got him many compliments, or looks of awe instead of looks of hunger. And the man had not once tried to reach out to him, touch him, grab him, or made any lewd comments about him, which earned him a few brownie points in Steve’s book.

It was Friday night, and the club was strangely empty. Steve supposed more people would come by later, or perhaps they were at other clubs. One a little bit more alive than this one. He looked over at the girl with rainbow hair and the pink, tight clothes. Pink Sparkle, she called herself. She did not say much, but she was nice. He was not sure why, but she would often take off her clothes, or dance around in outfits that revealed more than they hid, and he was still not entirely used to that.

With something of a sigh, he remembered those eyes following his every move, pale and blue, like round ice cubes. He remembered a voice rich like dark chocolate and smooth like whiskey, so soft and low, but with an intenseness that was difficult not to hear. There had been something about those eyes that was both unsettling and intriguing, and it made him want to come just a little closer.

Talking to clients was not something he did often, or  _ at all _ , actually. Mostly because they always wanted sex or they got handsy before they came to the actual talking, or because they always commented on how hot and sexy he looked and that made him uncomfortable. It was that kind of compliment that was not actually a compliment, one hidden in a layer of deceiving shiny wrapping paper, but they would get mad when you said you did not like it. He did not want to piss off any of the people in here, so he often just said nothing.

He was not stupid; he knew some very dangerous people entered this club on a daily basis. He was not naive, he knew they were talking the kind of business that sometimes involved getting rid of people, or redirecting large flows of money. He was protected by the bodyguards and the bartender, who were always on the lookout for their entertainers, but he still did not feel comfortable dancing around without any form of protection himself. Clint had lent him a knife for that very purpose.

He thought he would be fired right away when he pulled it, or have a bunch of angry mobs coming for him. That did not happen, though. To his utter surprise they did not take it the wrong way at all. If anything, that little act earned him respect from the clients, and most of them would tell the story to others with a sense of enthusiasm and awe, with a large grin on their face and hushed words of  _ "Watch out for that one! He’s got bite!". _ He could not deny that it gave him a certain sense of satisfaction.

That man, however, had been different. Though Steve had been cautious at first, his usual reaction to people he did not know, he could not deny that he had visibly eased throughout their conversation. He had felt calm, the threat of the unknown slipping away, and he wanted to know more. To come closer. To talk.

Perhaps it was that flair of danger and authority that hung around him like a cloud that had Steve bite his lip softly and his toes curl. The kind that was sown into the fabric of his expensive, tailored suit, oiled into the shine of his shoes, and braided in the soft waves of his hair. It filled the whole club, the pressing air before a thunderstorm that reached any and everyone in here, and Steve was sure the man barely even tried. A kind of effortless power that had any man stop in their tracks and stare.

_ Get a grip, Steve _ .

"You did some neat tricks last week," a voice said then, and Steve nearly fell off the pole. He could just bring his legs down and regain his posture before he turned around and looked at whoever had spoken. It was a woman. She looked familiar.

She had hair hanging straight down like a sheet of paper, colored the most vivid shade of red that had him wondering if it was natural or painted. She looked at him with piercing green eyes that revealed exactly nothing, not a single emotion or intent, and she stood with her hands shoved in the pocket of her red leather jacket. He was not quite sure what he was supposed to do, so he tried to form some kind of response.

"Thank you, ma’am."

"I’m especially a fan of the way you broke John’s hand without any hesitation." With a small upwards tick of her eyebrows, she then asked, "Where’d you learn that?"

"A friend," he answered, his brain calling up the image of a brunette in colorful dresses that hugged her body at the right places, with a lovely red hat and red sunglasses, who could kick the ass of any man who dared to trifle her. Peggy had taught him some moves to protect himself a while ago. Breaking that guy’s hand had been one of them, though he was not supposed to squeeze that hard and push through entirely. That had been a bit of a mistake.

The redhead hummed, "Just for the dancing, or did you learn it for a different reason?"

That had him freeze up, just for a moment. It was not often that people asked him  _ why _ he had learned how to defend himself, they were merely surprised that he could. Peggy was an agent, for her it was quite obvious why she could take out a group of perpetrators with a clipboard and her bare fists, as that was her job. Steve had only worked in cafes and bookshops, nearly going to work in retail (though he was glad he had not chosen that, at least here he could defend himself and not get sued), so what reason was there for extreme self-defense?

"I like to be able to protect myself, from anything, really," Steve answered, "Or anyone."

_ Or that one someone _ , he thought,  _ that one person I have to protect myself from on a weekly basis _ . No, he should not think like that. It was not like that. He shook his head quickly to get rid of the image. Of that certain person that haunted his dreams. That one person he had learned how to fight for, but had yet never once used his moves on. That one person he did not dare to stand up against, though he had no trouble threatening others.

It was all a misunderstanding, really. 

"Understandable," the redhead said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, "And from what I’ve seen, you’re quite good at it. Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn," he answered, seeing no harm in answering that. Brooklyn was big, and there was no saying if he lived there still or had moved somewhere else. There was no harm in answering such superficial questions, surely, she would not do strange things with it. Because the woman asked him questions, he thought it was only fair if he did as well. "You?"

"Russia," the woman answered, to his surprise, because her voice held no trace of a Russian accent whatsoever.

It made him frown, and he spun around the pole slowly as he tried to come up with the right way of words to challenge that answer, but without offending her in any way. With him, there was still a slight drawl of a Brooklyn accent to be found, something in his voice that could be heard when he got worked up, but with her, he had thought her to be American at first. "Excuse me for being straightforward, but you don’t sound Russian."

A small smile ticked the corner of her mouth up, "I get that a lot. Most of us here are Russian, actually, but we don’t all talk like," she switched to a heavy Russian accent,  _ "Vodka, Mother Russia, comrade _ ."

With heat in his cheeks, Steve tried to backpaddle somewhat and offer an apology, but the woman seemed not at all offended or angry, but rather amused about a clouded reason he did not quite get yet. Perhaps he never would; the woman seemed like a person who said a lot but shared very little. Who could hold deep conversations about nothing at all, say a lot of words said but give no information. He recognized that, in himself. He too tried to be professional and mysterious as he worked. The less they knew about him, the better.

Then, popping up from the corner of his mind, came the memory that slotted together with the empty part of his mind. He remembered why she seemed so familiar. He had seen her hang around with the brunet man with the icy eyes. They had sat on the same couch, two nights in a row last week. Well, the woman seemingly  _ always _ sat on that couch, with a drink and watchful eyes. She would talk with some people, dangerous looking people, and her appearance was quite confusing because at one hand she looked pretty and harmless, but on the other she had a kind of fierceness that could snap a man’s neck by looking at it. But the two of them seemed to know each other.

"The other man," Steve said then, not even knowing where he was going with this, or why, "Mr. Barnes, is he your friend?"

The woman nodded, seemingly pleased with something that Steve tried to ignore, because it made him feel guilty considering who was waiting for him at home, "He is. Have known each other for quite some years, why?"

"Does he always talk with the dancers?" If he did, Steve knew he had to watch out for the remainder of his time here. If Barnes was a man who would frequently talk or charm the dancers while they worked, to get whatever he wanted out of them, he knew he would have to be more careful around him, for he had no desire to get pulled into the back of the club and used.

"Oh, no, no, no." The woman shook her head, amusement growing as her eyes seemed to sparkle with an unnamed emotion. "James doesn’t do that. At all. You’re special."

_ Special _ . Again, that word. A word Steve was dying to hear, but he felt so strange hearing it meant for him. He should not be thinking about it so much, but it was all that went through his mind. All that  _ had been _ going through his mind for days on end. Ever since last Saturday, after the man named James Barnes had stroke up a conversation that meant nearly nothing, he had not been able to get it out of his head.

And it was all Clint’s fault.

"He’ll be coming tomorrow," the woman said, "He wanted to come by today, but he had a hectic schedule."

She said it with a certain look in her eyes that Steve was not all that comfortable with. It was something suggestive, as though she was letting him know to do  _ him _ some kind of favor, but Steve did not know why she would think that. Wait- had she seen him look? Had she seen him glance through the club, gaze stilling at the couch Barnes had sat twice now, a part of him hoping that the brunet would be there? Had she seen him?

"That is nice for him," Steve answered, as casually as he knew how, "I hope he will enjoy himself."

The woman let out a small laugh, much like a puff of breath with a hint of amusement, "Oh, he  _ will _ ."

With that, she turned and walked away, the heels of her shoes clicking in her wake, and Steve stood silently at the pole, one hand holding the smooth surface, hoping that that did not mean what he thought he meant, while at the same time he hoped that it meant exactly what he thought it meant. He knew he was not supposed to, as the relationship he had to anyone in this club was nothing but strictly business, but he could not stop his heart from beating that little bit faster.

It was not supposed to, he  _ knew _ that, and he felt so guilty for feeling it anyway. The warmth that bloomed through his chest like a sunflower reaching for the first rays of light. The sunshine that he could feel on his face, even though he was inside and it was night. He was not supposed to feel like this about another man, he was supposed to love the one he was in a relationship with. It was not fair.

_ Goddammit, Clint _ .

**X**

Sitting in that same bar, only a few couches further, lounging on the red velvet with one arm draped across the top of the backrest, was a tall man eyeing the amber liquid in the glass in his hand. 

Rays of light caught through that very glass, giving it a golden shimmer that reflected in large ice cubes that floated across the surface. He moved his hand from left to right, merely to hear the cubes chinking against the surrounding glass. He had been holding it for some time now, his long fingers wrapped around it, and though any other would have thought the glass to be cold, he had no problem with it whatsoever.

Next to him sat a woman, with chestnut hair that curled around her slender shoulders, the top of her head hidden by one of the colored beanies she loved wearing so much. She was holding her own drink, something much sweeter with a splash of soda, he believed. He would not have minded getting himself a drink like hers, but sadly the others had pushed this glass into his hand and expected him to drink it all. They had just left a few minutes ago, so that he was alone with the woman and he was glad. He could put the glass away, but he felt uncaring and he did not want to get up. So, he was stuck with the drink, unless, of course, she would let him have some of her drink.

With another chink of the ice cubes, the woman sighed and raised her eyebrows at him. He shrugged a little, vaguely, looking over his shoulder as to make sure the rest of his companionship had left their earshot before he leaned over to her, and started talking in an accented hum of a voice. "They did bore me as well, fret not. I thought this would be where I would meet my pitiful demise."

"At least they were talking to you, it was like I didn’t even exist," the woman said, casting a quick glance over her shoulder as well, but the coast was clear. "Could’ve taken my iPod instead of listening to old men babble away. What was it about, even?"

The man looked at her, poison green eyes flickered, and thin lips were pursed slightly in a somewhat wry smile, "I have no clue."

He sat up a little, lifting one leg to put it over the other, plucking with his fingers at his green shirt before he settled back against the couch, the woman’s shoulder touching his. He raised the glass to take a sip, a small one, feeling the immediate burn on his tongue and throat – a burn that had him recoil and twist up his face in disgust. Thick, burning mead had always been something his brother was so fond about. He preferred things sweet, always had.

Having enough of the drink, he leaned forward towards the low table in front of the couch, putting it down heavily, though not hard enough to cause it to crack. He did not want to be responsible for alcohol on the table and floor. He rested his head in his other hand, tilting towards the woman a little bit, who leaned heavier against his shoulder.

"Just look at that," the woman said then with a sigh through her voice, gazing at something beyond him, "You could eat him with a spoon."

"He could kill you with a spoon," the man answered simply, unable to keep his eyes from darting towards the blond with the mesmerizing movements. He was quite something, there was no shame in thinking that. All of them thought that, he was sure. Talent was talent, whether it was about the art of slicing throats or dancing with a certain grace that both popped out and faded to the background. "I wonder what other capabilities he has."

Clever as a fox and quick as a snake. He could snap his fangs from the tall grass and retreat without anyone noticing anything. Blue had that aura of danger, yet with a face of complete innocence that had people pulled in like sharks to fresh blood. For those familiar with danger and threat, it was difficult not to notice, and it had something desirable. That man was a mystery, and all the others could only wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface.

"I think Barnes fancies him," the woman said, curling her lips around the rim of her glass to take a sip, leaving behind yet another smudge of red lipstick.

That had him snort, a quiet huff leaving his mouth, "I think that is a bit of an understatement, my dear, Blue has swept our Golden Boy right off his feet with that pretty little face of his."

"You think he’ll succeed? Barnes, I mean." The woman tapped her nails against her glass thoughtfully, still looking at the dancing figure. "He can be quite persuasive, but there are no flies on Blue either."

"Barnes has always gotten everything he desired; I am nearly certain that Blue will not be an exception."

That had the woman frown slightly, and he could nearly  _ see _ her brain working to formulate new thoughts and things to wonder about. Blue was sharp, and quick to think, but Barnes was no quitter at all. Barnes nearly always got what he wanted, whenever he wanted, where he wanted. He could get his hands on things that most people did not even know existed; pretty dancers were certainly no exception. Though there was something about Blue that had him hesitate. Something defiant.

It would probably not hold up, not any of that defiance, Barnes could wrap any person around his little finger with a heated look and some charming words, though he supposed it  _ had _ been quite a while since Barnes had made a move on someone for the sake of feelings and emotions. Sure, he had friends, but it had been years since he had last enjoyed himself with… certain company. Barnes had left them thinking he had given up on such pleasure altogether, even after Romanov had tried to get him some treats he would enjoy.

No treats were taken, and Barnes stayed alone. His bed stayed empty, not another body to warm the sheets and pillows. To warm each other. It just was not on the menu anymore, which more than one had mourned about. People wondered why, and some even suggested that Barnes had found someone to settle with. That was not even the slightest true, but it did have something to do with the real reason. Barnes had not said it directly, but many could read between the lines; he was looking for something that would last. Or at least last longer than two weeks.

Though his exterior may be rough, no one could ever say Barnes did not treat his own right. Perhaps he had strange ways to show affection or protection, but he certainly provided. Oh  _ hell  _ did Barnes provide, it had the green-eyed man grin widely when he thought back of it. Short, hungry, and savage enough to have even the wildest of people back off slowly. A time of thorough pleasure and blowing off steam.

"Earth to Loki," the woman said, nudging him with her shoulder, "You didn’t say what the next gig was about."

"My apologies," Loki answered, blinking away the thoughts that pushed themselves to the front, "It will be standard, mostly. The bastard still has time, so any advances will have to wait. Some surveillance would not hurt, though."

"Surveillance?" The woman had her eyebrows raised, "I’m pretty sure that guy would recognize us in his sleep, he’ll pick us out right away."

"You forget, I am a master of disguise." Loki’s lips curled up at the corners, revealing a charming, somewhat smug smile that had the woman roll her eyes.

Feeling thirsty, he gently took the glass from the woman, bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. The annoying, bitter burn in his throat and mouth was replaced by a sweet sting that felt so much better. He licked his lips, taking another small sip to savor the taste, before he passed it back to the woman, who did not mind him taking her drink at all. She was used to it. With most couples, it was the woman picking things from the man’s plate, with them, it was the other way around. Kind of endearing, she thought.

The old men who had been droning on and on about things had talked about the next assignment. Nothing too hard, just another defaulter like the dozen others they had been assigned to in the past. The man had a week or so to pay up, or they would start paying him visits. Visits that did not include tea and a cookie, but rather tea and death threats. Tea and a beating. Tea and ‘pay up or we will steal your kidneys’.

"Oh  _ damn _ ," the woman breathed, staying with raised eyebrows of surprise at Blue. The man had just twirled around the pole at the highest part, throwing his body down and catching himself before he could fall onto the platform and break a bone or two. "Barnes certainly knows how to pick them."

Loki turned a little in the seat, staring with poison green eyes at the man who was like a materialized melody of the finest of music. With a short nod of his head he guided the woman’s gaze into the right direction, the corners of his lips curling up to a small smile. They both looked as the man moved around the pole, flexible in a way you would not soon expect from a man his size. One of the best dancers they ever had, and the man was not even stripped naked. Many in here wished he was, though.

A small sigh left Loki’s lips, and he shook his head a little. "Poor thing is going to get eaten alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal ~~son~~ daughter returns!
> 
> I've been away for a long while, I know, but I just couldn't put out the content that I wanted for this story. I struggled with it, and put it on pause to do something else. I recently came back with fresh eyes ( ~~and horny thoughts~~ ), so I'll likely be picking up this story! I think I have found the aesthetic back, and some good ideas on what to do next! 
> 
> So, even though I'm gonna make some changes, I still hope you'll like the story. I'll see you next time around💖


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried, okay. I really did!! Describing someone dancing sexily is just hard. Like I was sitting behind my desk, just trying out some hip swaying and just waving my hands trying to literally _narrate_ it to myself, just to get an idea about how to do this, and I think it turned out alright? 
> 
> Just imagine Steve knowing he has a nice ass and flaunting it. That’s pretty much the core of this.

Though his mind was far away, James still tried to listen to the smooth purr of the voice that spoke, "Dangerous means likely to cause problems or to have adverse consequences," the voice explained. "It means able or likely to cause harm or injury." It was velvet venom that spread through your veins like an addicting drug, seizing your heart and ripping it apart all the same, making even the dictionary sound like an interesting adventure.

Only James had no desire to get caught up in a years long journey, he would rather skip to the end, where he could claim his prize and cherish it for a long time to come. There was nothing that could ever compare to the man who was like the galaxy. With the spirit of a wild stallion, one that could never be controlled, no matter the force applied to him. Though he knew he should not, James longed. He longed for the man. He longed to tame the uncontrollable wildfire that was the Blue Angel, and have the man by his side. 

In no way did he seek absolute control over the Angel, not at all. Someone like Blue could never truly be owned. His wits and strength and his stubbornness could never be curbed, neither did James ever want to. Someone like Blue could never belong to any hands, to any face. His beauty lay in his straight back with the squared shoulders as he kept himself up, the proud lift of his head as he faced every difficulty with the guidance of his heart, the wild look in his eyes as he stared directly into the eyes of death and rejected its hold.

It was something James had always known - a wild stallion's free spirit was part of its charm. To tame one was to take away what made the creature so special. It would go in against Blue’s very nature. It would be to pick a flower and put it in a vase, admiring its beauty for as long as the course of a week or two, perhaps three, before it would wilt and die. 

To tame such a free, strong spirit, would mean to destroy it first. 

But whoever dared to lay waste to such beauty, would surely burn in the fires of hell. 

There was nothing about Blue that was not simply alluring. Like wildﬁre, or a summer storm sweeping the very bravest off their feet. That he was dangerous, capable of snapping the bones of a hand with a simple gesture, and wrapping his legs around a man’s neck as to choke the very breath out of him, only made him all the more interesting. All the more desirable. It made James want to step forward and carry the young man off to wherever he wished to go. 

Even though the force of nature that was Blue was not to be owned and tied down, James wanted to do nothing more than to claim the boy and call him his own. 

"He is nothing if not dangerous," Loki continued, jarring James out of his thoughts. It was not even really meant for him; Loki liked to talk aloud, even when there was no one to listen. He did not talk to himself, but rather to an invisible audience, which, since a year or two, had become to exist of Darcy by herself. She did not mind at all. She found it fascinating. "Just because he looks like an Angel does not mean he is one."

There was a brief moment of silence between the members of the group, jumping from one to the other, all while James was staring so longingly towards the beautiful man who moved like his dance had been a gift from ancient gods. Like he had been blessed with art by the most talented muses, meant to move the way he did. It almost pained him to realize how Blue’s talent was put to waste in a place like this, where it would never be fully appreciated. Blue should dance in the largest theater abound, he should dance somewhere he would get recognition, somewhere the stars could see and turn green of jealousy, for he shone the brightest of them all.

With the slight raise of one of his eyebrows, Loki craned his head as to look at James. "My dear boy, pray tell me, when will you finally throw our sweet Blue over your shoulder and carry him out of here to fulfil those dreams of yours? If you yearn for him from this distance any longer, I’m afraid your grip on reality will slacken."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," James responded, unable to tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. He shifted a little in his seat, his drink long forgotten on the table. The only reason Loki and Darcy had not yet picked it up and taken it for themselves was because it was too bitter for them. They liked things sweet. Not that James would have minded much if they _had_ taken his drink, it was not like he could get anything through his throat right now. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you like him," Darcy said, "You want him all to yourself."

James scoffed, almost as if offended, _"Pamalchiti,_ _vy dvoye_. I am not interested." _Keep quiet, you two_.

Even though what Darcy said very much _was_ true, the last thing James wanted was to admit that to them, especially since this was not just some quick infatuation. He felt something he had not felt in a long time. He felt something that simply did not appear when he picked up pretty girls at the bar. This was something entirely different. Something deeper. Something that could be called - dare he say it - a _crush_. He wanted to be with Blue, to _have_ Blue. All to himself. 

It was a strange spurt of possessiveness that surged through his veins every time he looked at the young man dancing so carelessly on his platform. The thought of some random creep laying their hands on that sweet, beautiful body, grabbing it, squeezing, scratching. It was not a pretty thought, and it sparked a flame of anger in his stomach, even though he did not even know if Blue was in a relationship. It would not be surprising if he was. Who _wouldn’t_ want to be able to call Blue theirs? That did not make him feel any better. 

"He’s pretty," James said, hand coming up to rub his nose, "But that’s it. I can get others, so why bother?"

It had probably been the wrong answer, James realized then. If he wanted to stake a claim on Blue, saying he was not interested would not discourage others to stay away. And it did not have the intended reaction with Loki he had been hoping for. A wide grin spread across Loki’s face, almost reaching the corners of his eyes and showing perfectly that, whatever was crawling around in that head full of cats of his, it was as deranged as it was dangerously sane. "Because you want what you cannot have. It is so obvious." 

"Nope," James answered, "I’m good."

The man in green shifted in his seat, coming up a little with the straightening of his back like he was a predator readying itself to pounce onto an unsuspecting prey. He still sat on the couch, the moment before coming up, muscles tensed to move. He leaned forward, saying, in the hushed purr of a voice of his, "Then you certainly would not mind if I played my cards, would you, James?"

There was a slight pout to his face, something that was meant only to show a kind of pity that was not actually there, and taunted James’ authority. A mocking pout. With the smooth run of limbs, Loki attempted to come up from the couch, doing it almost painfully slow and the look on his face suggested that it was nothing but intentionally. It was a taunt, a way to see James’ reaction and to have him admit to things he long knew were true. 

Rather sooner than it was later, Loki got exactly what he wanted. Just as the man was about to come up fully, to stretch his arms and then stride his way over to the platform, James had snapped forward faster than his shadow could keep up. Like a tiger waiting in the thicket fixated on its prey, he had tensed his muscles and made the large jump to get a hold of the other before he could get away. His hands surged forward as to take hold of Loki’s shoulders, fingers curling inward as to claw into the green shirt, digging through the fabric into his skin. 

Using the entirety of his weight, knowing the man could handle much more, he pushed Loki back into the seat, hovering above him with their faces only a few inches apart. There was a minute sound of mechanics whirring between the two of them, James’ arm of death recalibrating as to adjust to the sudden change of force. The metal plates shifted, clicking into their right places to ready themselves for an attack. 

" _Actually_ ," James growled, his voice now raw like sandpaper, with a lace edge of venom around it, sitting tied nicely in a bow of barely controlled rage, "I _do_ mind."

Breathing heavily through his nose, he stared straight into that set of neon green pools, keeping himself out far enough so he did not have to worry about drowning in them, or getting in too far. He was forcing Loki into the seat, leaning onto him with all his weight. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, trying to keep up with the pace he sucked in air, eyes narrowed and spitting fire, the blue turning as cold as glaciers made out of dry-ice; the kind of ice that burned off your skin at any kind of direct contact.

"Hey, booboo," Darcy spoke up gently, scooting closer on the seat, reaching out a hand towards the two. James snapped his head to the side, now aiming his anger on her. Not just on her, the anger just came from his eyes, aimed at what he was looking at. The brunette smiled softly, fumbling the cord of her black earbuds between her fingers. She did not seem the least worried about Loki, her gaze rather on James. "Don’t do that. You know it turns him on."

Turning his head back to Loki, he was annoyed to see that she was right. The look he received back was a heated, half-lidded one, paired with a smirk he wanted to wipe right off those sharp features. He made a sound of annoyance and disdain, rolling his eyes before he pulled back and came up to stand. Loki propped himself up on his elbows, now grinning like the cat who got the canary, looking quite pleased with himself. 

"James, darling," he said, coming up to sit, swiping a few invisible dust particles off of his shoulder, before making himself comfortable in the chair again, looking like he _hadn’t_ just been jumped and threatened, but rather as if they had just had a nice, calm talk. Nothing seemed to faze the guy. "If you desire the Blue Angel so much, then why not just capture him in your web? I do not recall you ever hesitating when you needed something of me. You have not gone shy, have you?" 

Trying _not_ to think about what happened between him and Loki that couple of years ago, their ‘supposed’ relationship, James huffed, a little indignantly, "Of course not, _Loki._ If it had been that easy, don’t you think I would have done it by now?" He gave the couple a stern look, jutting his chin up a little as he squared his shoulders. The attempt was to show his high and mightiness, but it fell flat on the two who had never had any trouble doing or saying exactly what they wanted. "Blue is sensitive. He’s the type you just don’t swipe and grab. He does _not_ look like he would appreciate that."

"Hm, he has a point, snookles," Darcy said, laying her iPod down on her thighs. She leaned into Loki’s side, shaking her head a little as to flip away the strand of hair that had escaped her beanie, and had been obscuring her face. "If you try to grab him, he’ll only try to kick your balls and break your face."

"I never once said it would be _easy_ ," Loki said, with the roll of his eyes, "But is love not worth the struggle? Or the temporary sexual satisfaction at least?"

With a sneer to lips, James turned away, deciding to find refuge by Blue instead, the one who would not constantly get on his nerves or tell him what to do or think. The man who was prettier than any other, who was so sweet and elegant. He cast Loki a last look, eyes still narrowed, chin high. He gave Loki a sound of disdain, _"Otva`li, suka." Fuck off, bitch._

For a hot second Loki looked taken aback, quiet for such a sweet time, then he began laughing, grinning so annoyingly wide that James decided to leave it. He turned and walked away, ignoring the so smug and victorious look that was cast towards his back. Loki actually had the sheer _audacity_ to call after him, though his voice was still so unusually quiet and soft for something so sharp, "You’re welcome, darling."

And then Darcy threw something onto the pile as well, waving her goodbyes. "Bye, booboo!"

**X**

Even before he had even reached the platform where his person of interest currently stayed, a set of vivid blue eyes had caught sight of him. Something in them seemed to light up as they widened just a little. The blue jumped out against the sapphire of his shirt, seeming even more deep and profound than they had before.

With lazy, calm movements, James eased himself down before the platform, leaning his elbows on the edge, and he looked up at the young man dancing like it was what he had been made for. Blue had long seen him, and as he curled around the pole, lifting himself up a little to arch his back, flexible in a way that made James’ heart beat a little faster at the thought of what other positions that body could be bent into. 

Once those eyes caught his gaze, Blue’s lips curled up into a smile that seemed to light up the room. Like a sunflower reaching for the light, he stretched out standing on one leg, the other lifted beside him slowly, stretching out the furthest he could, even with his toes. Such long legs, clad in tight sports fabric. James wanted to set his fingers into the waistband and pull down on it. He wanted to slip his hands inside and roll it down until every last layer had been removed, and Blue lay completely bare and vulnerable beneath him. 

Blue stepped away from the pole and lowered himself to his knees. James lifted an eyebrow, but his interest was piqued, and he watched curiously as Blue settled himself down on the platform. He seemed to be making himself comfortable, then he continued his act. Sitting up straight, he slowly rolled his body from his upper chest to the curve of his hips, much like a wave of the ocean. Either he was fishing for tips, or he was flirting, James knew it for sure. He hoped it was the latter. Though it could also be so that Blue could talk to him easily, without being interrupted from his job. A sort of one on one session, only out in the open. 

"Can I help you, mister Barnes?" Blue asked, keeping his voice soft, even a little sultry as he flashed the man his best shy boy look, fluttering his pitch black eyelashes better than any girl James knew could have done. It was so much like they had met, this little thing right here, and James was more than pleased to notice that the cautiousness, or _most of it_ , at least, had ebbed away. Something of familiarity shone through Blue’s eyes, something softer. It was not trust, not by far, but it was the sheet of ice that was melting. 

The pretty flower was losing some of its edge, blooming all the more beautiful. 

"Oh don’t mind me, _kotenok_ ," James answered, propping his chin on his hand for support, grinning back widely. Hoping it looked as charming as he thought it did, he winked at the young man sitting in front of him. "Just enjoying the view."

Should he have added the endearment? Well, Blue probably did not even know what it meant anyway, so it would not hurt. Blue’s tongue darted out, the tip wetting his bottom lip before it pulled the plush skin back in, squeezed between his teeth softly. James’ eyes darted down, almost licking his own lips in response, but he could just curb that urge and lift his eyes back up at Blue, who leaned over a little, parting his lips on a soft breath. "Your friend came by the other day, said you couldn’t wait to see me."

"Friend?" James repeated, caught in a moment of uncertainty. He blinked, mind working rapidly to try and work out what Blue meant with that. Then he understood. With the shake of his head, he snapped out of the haze of his head, giving Blue a sheepish smile for not realizing sooner. "You mean Natasha? With the red hair?"

Blue nodded. "Yeah, she said she was impressed with my dancing skills." He bit his lip again, looking a bit shyly now. "And the way I broke John’s wrist."

"That sounds like Nat," James said, chuckling lightly, "And she was right. I couldn’t wait to see you. I just..." a small sigh escaped his lips, and he leaned forward a little more, "You’re special. You’re _something_ , but I have no idea what goes on inside that pretty little head of yours, and that intrigues me."

The shadow of a smile twitched the corners of Blue’s mouth up. After a moment of consideration, Blue pushed himself forward to get in closer, placing his hands before the edge of the platform, leaning on his arms and knees. His face bobbed forward, pulling back again before it could get too close. There was a soft puff of breath, and because the two were little apart, James could feel it ghost along his cheek. Then, in the hush of a voice, Blue asked, "You think I’m pretty?"

"Such a slip of a thing like you? Oh _malyshka_ ," James sighed, so tempted to raise his hand and brush away that unruly strand of hair, flopping down Blue’s forehead like a kid, hanging partially into his hauntingly blue eyes. He kept himself in, curbing his urges, though there were so many. All the things he wanted to do, but was not allowed. All the desires that rolled like a storm through his body, hidden deep down because none of them had been approved by the one they were for. "You’re prettier than a tree of pink blossom blooming against the bright blue spring sky."

Because they were so close, James could see the red blush spread from Blue’s cheeks, like they had been kissed by a cold wind, to the rest of his face to paint it much the same. It was an adorable shade of light red, accompanied by the bashful aversion of his eyes to the floor of the platform. Blue leaned back again, dipping his chin so more of those golden strands fell in front of his eyes, though the blush was still very much visible. 

" _God_ , you’re adorable," James said, letting out a sigh, as if he thought the world was just so unfair to him. Truth be told, it was unfair to everyone. To present such beauty, put it on the platform, and then refuse to let anyone have it was just cruel. It was a taunt of the universe, nature’s drive thrown back into their face.

There was a soft breath. "Oh, the things I’d do to have..." James trailed off, not particularly content with finishing that train of thoughts, especially out loud. _To have you_. It was best if those words remained unspoken, at least for now. There was no reason for Blue to hear him. No reason at all. If anything, it was probably a creepy thing to hear. "So beautiful, so innocent. Yet so dangerous."

Before he really caught up on what he was doing, he had already reached out his hand towards Blue’s face, fingers lax and uncurled, not a sign of any grabby digits for as far as one could see, but Blue did sit up a little straighter. His hand was not met with the aggression James had seen before. It was not any kind of grabbing and twisting. When Blue’s hand went out, it was not to break his bones, but rather to push his hand down a little. 

_"No touching,"_ Blue whispered, blinking lowly, plump lips parted just slightly, the pink end of his tongue wetting the bottom one. As he sat there, leaning over the wood, James wanted nothing more than to raise his hand, grab a handful of those golden locks and pull him down, crashing their lips together and James… oh _James_ , he would bite down on that plushy bit of skin, licking it, making Blue squeal and whimper, pressing further into it. 

Had he been allowed, he would have put his hand on every single part of Blue that he could find. 

"You’re like a forbidden fruit when I can’t touch you," James said, his voice so low he was almost whispering as well. His hand hovered above Blue’s knee, but did not touch. He skimmed over air, removed enough it was clear he would not touch, but close enough to get the intended message through. He wanted to reach further, get his hand on those thighs, lay it flat between them just high enough it would bother Blue, so that he would roll his hips again, but for another reason. He had to hold a grin at that thought, pulling back his hand. "It’s kind of _sexy_."

Something lit up in those vivid blue eyes. James could be wrong, but they seemed to twinkle with irrepressible mischief, the slight twitch of lips to match. Blue pulled back, breaking the spell that had been between them, coming up to his legs in a ridiculously smooth motion that made James wonder if the man did ballet. Taking a small step back, Blue grabbed the pole behind him, turning his body around slowly, but his face turned only halfway, keeping James in his sight, fluttering his eyelashes once more. It was like he wanted to make sure that James was watching still, to keep his attention, to enchant him with his dance. 

It was intriguing, and James wondered what it was for. 

Keeping that smile of taunting provocation on his face, clear for James to see like some sort of challenge that he presented for the other to accept, Blue raised a leg, curling his calf around the pole idly, not a muscle in his body even _thinking_ about rushing through the deed, whatever that may be. Blue put his leg a little higher, leaning forward to press part of his chest against the pole, keeping his eyes on James like it was of great importance that James’ eyes remained on him. 

There was only a split-second of confusion blurring across his features, before James noticed exactly what Blue was doing, and he could not have been able to suppress that noise of surprise even if he really wanted to. By lifting his leg up and wrapping it around the pole, the fabric of Blue’s sports pants stretched over his ass in a way that would make any person want to sin, accentuating the bubbly curve of his backside twice as much. 

"Oh, you _naughty_ boy," James said, shaking his head in disbelief, unable to keep the smile of his face and his eyes off the prize. He only let them flicker up at Blue’s own once, still seeing that slight blush, but there was something else, something a little less innocent that it appeared at first glance. Blue was trying to get back at him. Make _James_ the one to blush! "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re doing this on purpose."

James seemed to be right, as all Blue did was give him a wink in return. Then, with the graceful flow of long limbs, he lowered himself to the floor once more. Only for a short moment, though, as he seemed to bounce on the balls of his feet, pushing his rear end up first as he rose back into the air. As he came up, he hollowed his back while keeping his upper body horizontal, so there was much more accentuation. Though he probably should not, James fully imagined his hand bouncing off of that peach in a sharp, stringing blow. The sound he imagined Blue would make was not bad at all either.

Moving like this instead of his usual, more sensitive flows, Blue looked like some of the other pole dancers, now dancing much more provocatively, and James felt more than blessed to have been given the privilege to watch it. The precision of a ballet dancer and the beauty of a sunset over the ocean was astonishing to look at, but this was something entirely else. Blue came back up, arching his back to rock his hips against the pole, all while keeping his eyes on the man staring in complete silence from the side of the platform. 

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister Barnes," Blue said in a feigned voice of innocence, pouting his lips as if he had never done anything wrong in his life.

Then, before he could answer, James’ eyes were drawn to Blue’s shifting hands. He brought them from the pole to his own body, stroking down the stretch of his chest slowly. As they moved, he leaned his upper body forward a little, keeping his eyes on James like James did with him. He dipped them lower, trailing them along his lower abs before he spread them to either leg, running them down the curve of his waist, rocking his hips along, swaying back and forth, left and right, reminding James of exactly that what he could not have, _the mean bastard_. 

"You’re a menace, that’s what you are," James said, unable to keep the smile off his face as he lay gazing up at the other’s tall, lithe figure, "Trying to provoke people like this, tempting me with your dance while knowing that I can only sit here and watch, longing for something that I can’t have. It’s preposterous. Perhaps someone should teach you a lesson."

"A lesson?" Blue repeated, keeping his lips parted slightly in a gasp, showing another acted expression of shock and disbelief, as if he could just not believe it. Then he pouted sadly, as if someone had already given him the verdict of his crimes, and it was a moment of corner time. James kind of liked it. Blue shrugged the single shoulder, looking away like a penitent little boy who had just confessed his sins. "But who would be man enough to do it? Oh goodness, I can’t think of _anyone_."

 _Shit_. James just wanted to snatch him off that platform and eat him right up. 

"You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you?" Keeping the young man well in his sights, looking for any kind of reaction he had been hoping for, James dropped his voice to a suave whisper, leaning in closer as if they were sharing a secret no one else was supposed to hear. "Tell me, Angel, you like causing trouble?"

"I like to defy," Blue answered, speaking in the soft hum of a voice, batting his eyelashes slowly, keeping them half-lidded so that the magnificent ocean peeked out from behind a curtain of pitch black, "But, in my heart, I like to please. It’s a thing I have, I suppose." There was a tiny smile to his lips, a curl of the corner that did wonders for James’ mood, lifting it like a rocket, making him want to gobble the little thing up even more. "I like to put up a challenge. Make ‘em work for it."

And if that did not work James up, making him feel like his pants were just a notch too tight, he would have considered the whole dating thing officially over for him. This was all that he had ever wanted and looked for. In past relationships that would not often be mentioned again, it had never quite fitted. Most of them had been good, the kind he would talk about fondly and refer to as a good time, none of them had either disappointed him, except maybe for one, but they had just not been _his_. Not truly. 

Right now, leaning onto the platform, watching Blue dance and flitter around the pole with an air of amusement and thought, a hazy look in his eyes as he buried himself in his head to rake up old memories and opinions, giving the slightest curl of a smile that was so clearly visible, but was gone so fast, it was better than anything he could have wished for. Perhaps it was the connection he thought they may share, though it could be purely one-sided, something only he felt. He prayed not; this was something he wished to explore a little deeper. 

" _Ooh_ , I see," James said, quirking an eyebrow. A knowing grin twitched up his mouth, and with the lick of his lips he leaned forward further onto the platform, weaving his fingers together to rest his chin on. "So you’re a handful, that’s it? A little brat?"

"When the situation calls for it," Blue answered, smiling so lightly again as he spoke. Then, a second or two later, that smile changed from sweet and light, to something that just spelled out ‘trouble’ in neon fucking letters, and a mischievous sparkle came to his eyes. Something bad. Something of misbehave. Something that James had seen only a few times before. It indeed was something challenging. "Or when I want to." 

"Someone may call you out for it one day," James said, "Punish you for your misbehavior."

"Ah, I’m _counting_ on that, mister Barnes." Blue’s lips curled up fully now, not of bright glee or a kind of happiness like a helium balloon; it was one of wicked amusement, "I would expect no less."

With his head spinning like a whirlwind, James could only just keep himself from charging forward and sweep the young man off his feet, letting his possessiveness take hold of the reins of his body, and steer him into any direction that it wanted. It proved even harder to refrain himself, to curb those desires that urged him to keep Blue all to himself, to never let anyone taint him or even touch him. He was a treasure of the deepest seas, and James a pirate with a hunger for gold. 

It was like such that they talked, seconds fading into minutes of an engaging conversation, one that held sweet smiles and pink blushes, one that had Blue tease him relentlessly by rolling his hips up to the side, circling it slowly, only to roll it up on the other side, making James want to put his hands on those hips and caress down the full curve, gripping his hand all around it. 

The world was in his favor, for now, which was to be noticed from Blue hinting at a desire to receive the kind of things that James liked to hand out, to his eagerness to please James in the few ways that he could. Blue appealed to his controlling side, to his part of arousal and hormones. It was the eyes, he supposed. Those damned eyes. The eyes that shone brighter than a star, yet were like the ocean so deep. They seemed like tropical waters, and James would not be surprised that all the fish of the reef would crowd him did he ever go for a swim. 

Then, there was a tap on his shoulder, interrupting him rudely from the spell that Blue had caught him in. He turned out, attempting not to react too harshly towards the waiter, who had tried to get his attention. "What do you want?"

"Sir, there is something who wants to talk to you," the waiter said, holding his empty tray a little nervously, almost as if he considered using it as a shield to ward off James. It would be in vain, of course, James could snap that piece of plastic in two did he really try, but he understood the message. With a harsh breath, not too much of a sigh, he pulled himself away from the platform, his heart crying out to get back right away. 

"Who is is?" he asked, putting a different tone than bored and annoyed in his voice, though he was not too sure if he succeeded. 

The waiter turned halfway, stretching out an arm to point. Following the man’s finger, James was overcome with the sudden urge to roll his eyes so hard they would pop out of his head when he saw who it was that wanted to speak with him. Oh _great_ , now he would have to go off from what he liked, all to deal with _that_. The person awaiting his arrival for the conversation really might have been his least favorite person on the planet, and James had quite the distinct taste in people. He often liked the unlikable, but this was asking him to like the most vile of multi-headed snakes. Not that he thought _anyone_ could ever genuinely like this person in the first place. Not even he supposed, with ones who shared very peculiar, similar traits to him. The guy would probably start a brawl with anyone who was too much alike for his taste. 

Sending Blue a look, one that was both something of an apology as a plea for patience, he said, "Hold on a minute, sugar, I gotta deal with something stupid."

The thing was, had he looked a little longer, a little _closer_ , he would have noticed that Blue was staring at the guy as well, but not in the same way. Where James was bored and uninterested, Blue seemed… worried. Though he was still dancing, still moving around as that was his job, his moves were a lot less provocative than they had been a minute ago. Now, they were much more like a wooden puppet instead of flowing silk of ocean waves. However, James barely paid any attention as he stood up, and so did not see it. 

He strolled over towards the bar, where the guy was leaning against the counter with his hip, arms crossed tightly before his chest, face like a thunderstorm. James wanted to groan, but because he wanted this to be over as soon as possible, he settled for an internal one only. The sooner he had this fixed, the sooner he could get back to flirting with Blue. He really thought he was getting there, having the young man dance so beautifully, eyes only on him and those pink lips leading up to a kind of filth that James was dying to hear, only to be ruined by a few words and a single man. Disappointment ripped through him like ice water. He wanted this to be over soon, so that he could swiftly return to fix whatever he could. 

"Any specific reason why you’re bothering me now, Rumlow?" James asked, trying once more to not sigh too obviously. Had it not been clear enough last time; he did not like this guy at all. He was rude, cruel, and a real bastard. Would stab anyone in the back when offered enough money. It was also the reason why no one ever told him anything. His loyalties were questionable. "I’d like to get back to things I actually _enjoy_."

"Look," Rumlow said in response, pushing himself away from the counter by using his hip, putting his weight on one leg as he cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. He looked back up at James, keeping heavy eye contact that was more than uncomfortable, "You know I respect you and all, you’re cool, being the leader of… you know, but the least you could do is show a little respect back. ‘s nothing more than human decency."

James just stared at him for a moment, brain coming to a stuttering, jamming halt as he tried to reset and remember what he had ever done to Rumlow to make him talk about ‘human decency’. Rumlow was the very embodiment of the _opposite_ of human decency. James blinked, slowly, staring still. Then he asked, "What?"

"It’s not that hard, dude," Rumlow said back, leaning forward a little, getting on James’ nerve even more, "Just respect other people’s boundaries and possessions, is that not a normal thing to do? It’s pretty shitty that you just go around taking other people’s things just ‘cus you want to, you know?"

"Rumlow," James said, keeping his voice firm and his words short as he wiped a hand across his face, more tired than words could currently express. He had absolutely no desire to drag this conversation on for any longer than had already happened. All he wanted was to wrap his head around it, talk it out, and get back to his Angel before his shift was over, and he would leave. Talking to Rumlow was one of his least favorite past-times. "I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Is it important?"

"He- he didn’t tell you?" For a moment, Rumlow seemed genuinely surprised and confused, as if the thought of James being blissfully ignorant had not yet crossed his mind. It probably had not, James supposed, the man had some skills, but he was not the brightest tool in the box. Rumlow threw up his hands, then wiped his face shortly before muttering to himself, "Of course he didn’t, the little _bastard_. I can’t believe this..."

"Can’t believe _what?"_ James asked, keeping his own voice calm, even when he curled the fingers of his hand to a fist, hidden behind his back. Just to be certain, you never knew with these guys. There were many people James saw daily, and even more he saw once in a while. He was involved with too many to just be able to guess what Rumlow was talking about. "Was someone supposed to tell me something?"

"Yeah," Rumlow snapped at him, the words spat out harshly as if they tasted like venom in his mouth, "He _was_."

The man took a harsh step forward, glaring daggers at the platform Blue was dancing on. It struck a chord of doubt in James’ mind, as he tried to figure out what that was supposed to mean. At first, it seemed like Blue had not noticed anything the two men were doing, but it soon became clear he had been watching them all this time, because his body jerked up when the glare was thrown his way, just as he sat wrapped around the pole. 

As he stood turned towards that very platform, where Blue was dancing around the pole, movements a little stiff and reserved, Rumlow had his hands clenched to fists, an obvious sign of aggression. His lips were curled up to a sneer, and he seemed ready to bark out something vicious to the entertainer. And then it happened. Even James let out a small gasp in surprise, yet Rumlow kept the same expression throughout. 

Blue fell off the pole. 

It would have been kind of funny, had Blue not slipped and crashed right on his back. His hand seemed to have slipped, nothing to hold on to anymore, and his legs had slackened as the poor thing failed to reach for any kind of support. Any and all attempts were idle, in vain, even though he tried his best. So, he fell. Hard.

A large _thunk_ and a painfilled noise spun up throughout the club, causing many men to fall silent in the midst of their conversation. Not a single laugh erupted from the crowd, which was not to anyone’s surprise. It was not funny, because it looked genuinely painful, and James stepped forward out of instinct. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Coulson stepped out from behind the bar as well, rushing towards Blue’s platform as if someone had died. James hoped strenuously that was not the case. 

He thanked the heavens when it seemed like everything was under control. Blue pushed himself up with his hands, coming to a sitting position. Some of the guests of the club had stood up from their seats. Not to get a better look and let their giggles travel like fires throughout the room, but from what James could see they were sincerely worried. Another woman came up to the platform as well, one with short brown hair James had once seen throw a perf out of the club with her bare hands. 

They shared a few words between them, but it seemed to be alright when Blue came up. James edged closer again, leaving Rumlow behind, who still had not moved but for the crossing of his arms. Blue’s face was beet red, and for the first few seconds he stood wobbly in place, taking hold of the pole. He looked around the room, seeing the eyes on him still, and he smiled shyly. 

"I’m okay," he said. 

A collective, relieved sigh came from nearly all attendees, as if they all agreed to express their relief at the same time, which they probably did. James did as well, the sigh escaping the heaviness of his heart, releasing the pressure from his chest. The music came back on, and the murmur of voices rose steadily into the air. Blue picked up his act, dancing a little more careful this time, though still like enchanted liquid, flowing like silk through the wind. 

But life was cruel quite often, and right now, it decided to be a little more of that. Before James could get any closer to check up on him, a harsh hand grabbed his bicep, pulling him back with a harsh yank. Just like that, James whirled around, coming to face the idiot feeling bold enough to cross him. It was Rumlow, once more. James resisted the urge to reach out his hand and wrap the metal fingers around the other’s throat, squeezing until his windpipe could take no more and would snap. It would get him into trouble, he knew, but it would be quite worth it. 

"Get off," he snapped, keeping his voice hushed enough as to not draw any attention. He pushed the hand away, tempted to give Rumlow a firm shove after, but he decided against that as well. He had enough of the secrecy, enough of the double words that he just did not understand, and the tendency of this man to speak in questions and vague sentences. "Just tell me what the hell you want before I get pissed."

"He’s my _boyfriend_ , asshole," Rumlow spat out. 

James felt as if the rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet, and his heart sank to his boots. His lips parted, uselessly, without a single word or noise, not even good enough to grant him the air that he lacked all of a sudden. It was as if a body builder had walked up to him, spat in his face and punched him in the stomach too for good measure. 

With a sharp intake of breath, his jaw clenched as he asked, with a breath of a voice, "...Boyfriend?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor booboo, he just wants his angel boy :(


	5. Chapter 5

Reading was like an escape from reality to him. 

Whenever things got tough, and he wanted nothing more than to hide far away into the deepest caves of the world, he would pick up a book and start reading. He would pour himself into the pages, looking intently at the words and trying to absorb them the best he could. He tried to get so sucked into the stories and the sentences so that he would forget all about his surroundings, so that he would forget about the world. 

When he read he let his imagination take over, for his thoughts were a hundred times better than what played around him. In his imagination, he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted, he could fantasize about anything without having to worry what other people thought of him, without feeling the dread of people calling him crazy or judging him for it. He sat safely in his own little world, buried deep in the next book from the pile. 

That was, until a set of harsh words were spat out at him. 

"Hey!" the voice said, a vile snap aimed towards him. A hand hit the armrest of the armchair he sat curled up in with a soft blanket, "Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you!"

When Steve did not move fast enough, a hand reached out, snatching the book from his hold and the connection was broken. Sitting there in that chair, no way out because of the man standing in front of him, he felt strangely small. He was not small himself by any means, he had built quite some muscles over the years, and he had grown quite tall, but that did not help as he was subjected to the harsh words thrown into his face. He licked his lips, his throat dry, and he cast his eyes up. 

It was his boyfriend who had been trying to strike up an argument with him for the past couple of minutes. He was angry because… well, Steve did not even know why that was anymore. It had all faded to the back of his mind, and he could not really bring himself to care all that much. He felt strangely numb, just sitting there in that chair, flinching at the rough waving of hands, and staring up at him, waiting. Brock held out one of his shirts towards Steve, showing the crumpled fabric that Steve remembered to have taken to his own room about a day ago. 

"How many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands _off_ my clothes?!" Brock snapped. He threw the shirt to the floor, his movement so fast and sudden that Steve flinched again, "You can’t just take my clothes and stuff them into your closet! I need these clothes! Do you think they come for free or something?"

Though he was very aware of how strange it was, Steve liked to collect soft things and keep them close with him. The soft blanket he had wrapped around him right now, the hoodie in his closet, a pillow on his bed. He did not have much, but when it was cold, he loved to bundle himself into those soft things and just slumber while a cold wind blew outside. Because he did not have a lot himself, he would sometimes take one of Brock’s clothes out of the wash machine, when they smelled of lavender and everything nice. 

"I’m sorry," Steve whispered. 

That did not seem to satisfy Brock, not even a little bit. A scoff flew across the man's lips, together with the disdainful shaking of his head, the glare only turning more vile. "You’re always _sorry_ , but when you are going to listen to me, huh? You can’t just steal my things, Steve."

He sat up a little straighter, a nerve hit, but there was too much dread to keep himself from snapping back. "I didn’t steal them," he countered, a little careful, "I don’t steal things. I just saw it in the wash machine when I was cleaning up. I didn’t think. I just brought it back to my own room. I didn’t want to..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. The best thing was to lay the blame not by Brock by calling him ‘angry’ or ‘upset’, which Steve knew would never end well, but by laying the blame by himself. 

Taking a quiet breath, shifting his position on the chair a little, the corner of his mouth ticking down to something sad, Steve said, "I’m sorry I was so stupid. I should have thought it through."

Steve knew why Brock was angry. He had not quite realized it before, but he did now. Last Saturday night at the club, Brock had been hanging around whenever Blue Angel was performing, all ever since Steve had broken that guy’s hand a couple weeks ago. Brock had seen mister Barnes get close and intimate, had seen the two of them smile and laugh. It was his own fault, really. Brock just was protective over him, and he had been getting too familiar with a man he did not even know, and who could be very dangerous. 

A lot of people at that club were dangerous, which was why Brock would rather not have him dance there. But there was no denying the payment that Steve got, and it was his own choice, Brock could not take that away from him. He earned enough to get by, and Brock knew that. The club provided well for him, it was something he had as a backup. He had even been setting up a private bank account for himself, just like Sam had urged him to do. He already had put some money on there, just to be safe. 

There was a heavy sigh, and while Steve was nervously thumbing the pages of his book, staring ahead with a blank look in his eyes, Brock crouched down in front of the sofa. He put his hands on Steve’s knees, where his legs sat curled up on the seat as well. His shoulders still had that tension, and his eyes were as harsh as they were ever, but his tone was much friendlier. Something inside Steve eased a bit, and his heart slowed its rapid pacing. 

"Look, babe," Brock said, brushing his hand down Steve’s leg, leaving a trail of tingling in its wake there where he had touched, even through fabric. It felt.. not nice. It was not nice when Brock did it. It was familiar. Steve liked to be touched, even when it was just a little bit. There was another breath, and Brock caught his eyes, eyebrows rising as a question for attention. Steve gave it to him. "I can’t say I understand, but if this is something you really want, how about I get you another hoodie? You like those, right?"

There was indistinct chatter in the background, Steve did not bother trying to listen to the conversations on the radio in the next room over, he could not care less about anything else than the man before him right now. All his mind was at now, was the man before him. Steve looked to his left, gaze lingering on something as he tried to collect his thoughts, fluttering like butterflies through his head.

"What did I tell you?Look at me!" Brock snapped, raising his voice just a little so it made Steve’s heart accelerate, muscles bracing even before something happened, fear slithering low in his chest, swooping down coldly as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped into his stomach. Then, the tone dropped back down. It was scary how fast he could jump from one point to the other. It was certainly not healthy. "I asked you a question, so I expect an answer. You like those, right?"

Wordlessly, Steve nodded. 

"Yeah, you do. And your last one, the grey one, we threw that one away, right? Now you have..." Brock thought for a moment, trying to come up with the one that Steve had left. Steve himself tried not to think about the grey hoodie, the one that he had been wearing when Brock threw the pan of sauce at him, staining the whole thing in red. He was forced to throw it away after. Brock clicked his tongue. "The brown one. How about I get you a new one? Black, or something. You’d like that?"

Fiddling with the edge of the book still, Steve bit the inside of his cheek. He nodded his head once more, trying to conjure something of a smile to his face, but it was surprisingly difficult to manage. Brock smiled back, though his eyes refused to smile along, so it did little to make Steve feel comfortable. It was always liked this; he was used to it. Though he knew he should not be, he was too tired to go in against it. Brock understood– or, he did not _exactly_ understand, but he was not mad anymore, and that was good. 

"How about," Brock said then, actively trying to calm himself, which counted for… something, in Steve’s books. At least he was trying. "How about we go pick one out tomorrow? I’m free in the afternoon, we can go looking for something so you won’t take mine anymore."

Though Brock probably did not mean it that way, it still stung. He had not meant to ‘take’ what belonged to Brock, but he just thought it would be alright because they lived together. They had slept together, as well, shared physical intimacy, so Steve really did not see the big deal in him borrowing one of Brock’s shirts once in a while. The man had various white and black shirts, all plain, so it was not like he could not pick another one anyway. 

Perhaps it was the principle, but Steve was no thief. 

He just wanted to feel warm.

X

It was when he stood in a too long line to get a cheap cup of coffee to go that tasted exactly like the amount of money he had paid, that James realized he should have either come way earlier, or that he should have gone to a place to get coffee that _wouldn't_ mess up his taste buds. The thing was, though their coffee was nothing to be left desired, their pastries were like shaped clouds of heaven. 

Even with two more people in front of them in line, James could see the barista had tired eyes, her ebony hair tied into a high ponytail that swung back and forth when she turned for what was probably the thousandth time today. Yet, there was something in her eyes that indicated strength, a kind of determination that was not often found anymore. She had a purpose, that was clear as day. Something about the way she held her head up high, plastered that fake smile across his face, and carried on her business almost made James want to hire her. 

For what? He did not know. There was just something about her that told him she could handle her stuff, and his instinct had rarely been wrong. 

Waiting for his turn to buy their surprisingly cheap, delicious pastries, James pondered this chance to rest a little, to take in the view of the place around him. It was not much different from any other cafe, with some tables, chairs, a waiter weaving around to take orders, and a line to the bar where one could buy coffee to go. The outside view was everything but charming either, as it lay almost directly along one of the busiest roads in the city. That was not prime real estate at all, as it was crowded, incredibly noisy, and the fumes of traffic blew into your face when you stepped outside. 

With a bit of a sigh, he looked at the barista again, not really knowing what else to do, but then he stopped in his movements, stilling as if he had just frozen from the inside. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened a fraction. It was a mop of blond hair that had caught his attention, a wisp of golden strands that just escaped the corner of his sights. He turned around, chasing it, and he was met with a sight that brightened his entire day. Better than any coffee or sugary snack– though he supposed that this was a sugary snack on itself. 

There, around the corner of the bar, he saw Blue.

It had to be him; James would recognize those locks framing those baby blue eyes anywhere, especially after last time they met. Though their moment had been rudely cut short, and Blue had soon after disappeared home, James had really enjoyed himself that evening. It frustrated him that Rumlow had ruined that in more ways than one, while also managing to make the whole situation confusing and heartbreaking.

It was certainly a coincidence that they were to stumble into one another at the cafe here, but James barely even thought about that. Blue was here, and that was all that mattered. Perhaps they could finally continue their conversation, or even take it a little further. James was quite curious to what words had been left unspoken, and there was nothing more that he wanted than to unravel those mysteries. 

He was about to step closer and greet Blue with a charm of enthusiasm, but his breath caught in his throat the second Blue walked away from the bar with his cup of coffee. James found himself unable to make a sound, his mouth failing to produce any words. The club was the only place he knew Blue from; he had never actually seen the man outside of work. Having stared at the dancer for quite a while, James could easily point out that something was different. Very different. 

In the club, while working his body like no other could, Blue always wore the same outfit; sports pants and a sports shirt. Now, he was wearing something completely else.

The barista asking for his order briefly snapped him out of his spell, but, craning his head, he was soon back to staring at the man who had not yet left, and James thanked the universe for the luck that a higher power had granted him.

It only now dawned on James that in his normal, everyday life, Blue would probably be wearing his normal, everyday clothes. From normal pants to normal shirts, Blue, like any other person, probably had more than one outfit. What he used in the club was just his sports’ clothes that he used for dancing, because it allowed him to move so freely. Though, if James had been trying to imagine what Blue would wear going about his usual day, he would not have guessed it was _this_. What he was trying to get to was… Blue was wearing _jeans_. 

But not just any jeans. 

The jeans that he was currently wearing were ridiculously well-fitted. There was no way that one could miss how snugly the denim fabric sat against his skin, showing off the drool-worthy line of curves that flowed from his itty-bitty waist to his wider hips, and down to the outlines of his thighs. It surely was _something_ to look at, something that had James slow in his movements and stare. Part of him was confused about his sudden surprise, as it was not as if he had never noticed it before; ever since he had laid eyes on the dancer, James had known that Blue’s body was one of a few.

Truth be told, it was not even a secret around Midnight 7 that the dancer called Blue Angel had a great body, only no one ever said it out loud (except for Loki and Darcy, who always said whatever the hell they wanted and had no problem proclaiming their tastes). It seemed to be something they just all _knew_ , something that was not a surprise to any of them, something that was pretty common knowledge around the place. 

In fact, it was so much of a widely known thing, that there could be no way that Blue was unaware of his own rear-end being pretty much _perfect_. But then again; would it really be that big of a surprise if Blue was really that oblivious? The young man with his chiseled jaw, baby blue eyes and curvy waist was practically the living embodiment of Adonis, and the fact he did not seem to realize it, only made him all the more attractive. 

"Sir, your coffee," the girl behind the counter said, trying to catch his attention. From the corner of his eye he saw she had put his coffee to go ready together with his chocolate chip cookie, waiting for him to take it. 

It proved quite strenuous to take his eyes off those jeans. The most he managed was to drag his head to the girl to pay her the money for his coffee and snack with the quick swipe of his card. The beep could not come soon enough for him, and James took his purchase off her, jumping out of the line only to look right back at what he had been staring at before. To his relief, Blue had not gone up in smoke and was still there, gazing upon the bulletin board to read the flyers. James did not want to look away again. 

It was just that the jeans seemed so perfectly filled and rounded. Firm, but peachy enough that you could bounce a nickel off of it. There seemed to be no lines beneath the fabric that were often made by underwear, and though that could have various reasons, James’ head immediately jumped to the conclusion that Blue was simply not wearing any. That was probably neither true or a good idea, but he could not stop his head from going there. The thought was stored carefully in a corner of his mind.

Knowing he should probably stop looking before it turned weird, his eyes refused to listen to reason, and they did not shift a bit to gaze at something else instead. They were on Blue only, who was walking around so carelessly in those jeans, looking nothing short of an innocent angel just looking so curiously at the world, that James felt a fit of possessive rage bubble up in his chest, one that urged him to just swipe Blue off his feet and take him off somewhere else. A place where it was just the two of them. Somewhere they could be alone and he could give Blue anything he could ever wish for. 

The fact that Blue had legs longer than James’ future, wrapped in skin-tight fabric as well, did not help at all.

Gripping his hot coffee cup tightly in his hand, his mind betrayed him with several ideas and images of what he could do to that peachy snack. The thought of smacking it had long appeared, and though his hands itched to do just that, it would not nearly be satisfying enough. The reason being that it was not just his hands that longed; the way he felt tight in his pants certainly suggested something else longed as well. 

He slid his tongue along his bottom lip before he bit down on it and pulled it in a little. He wanted to make Blue feel sorry he had ever even bought those jeans, let alone put them on and strut around in them like that. It was unfair. Also because Blue had the fucking waist of a Disney Princess.

Occupying his mouth and thoughts with something else, he took a sip from his coffee, that was still too hot and practically burned his tongue. That was good. It was a distraction. As good of a distraction that he could get, anyway. Passing his little baggy with his treat over to the hand that also held his coffee, he ran a quick hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit in a way he knew would look better on him. This was nothing like he was used to; getting caught off guard like this. It was annoying, frustrating. He was supposed to be the one to catch _others_ off guard, not the other way around!

After he stuffed the treat in his bag that hung just beside his hip, he stepped forward, his will urging him to take this chance that had presented itself to him. He let it take over his mind, let Blue beckon him closer, even when the man was still unaware of his very presence, gazing at the board. James was unsure what he was doing, if he was just looking or searching for something specific, but he ventured closer across the room. 

It was surprisingly easy to get there, not an annoying prick in sight. Taking a deep breath and straightening his stance, James approached Blue far enough to be perfectly audible when he said, "Never thought I would see you here." 

Blue tensed, and turned around, eyes darting all over the place trying to pinpoint who had spoken, and why, but once his eyes fell onto James, they eased into familiarity. It was recognition that now flowed so freely through the streams of blue that were his eyes, the sapphire edges almost sparkling as did they ever. A small smile curled up the corner of James’ mouth, and he brought a hand up to tuck a strand of brown hair behind his ear. 

"Mr Barnes," Blue breathed, sounding as if he was unable to settle on a single emotion, but instead chose all of them to express at the very same time. It was a kind of relief, recognition, but there was also a sense of worry that snuck in, just barely skimming the edges, but it was there. It made James ponder, what exactly did they think of one another? Did Blue even see him as anything else than a customer? Blue ran the tip of his tongue along his cherry red bottom lip, dragging in the plush to set his teeth in it, almost nervously so. "I didn’t know you were here."

"I can say the same," James answered, keeping his voice as soft and friendly as he knew how. He hoped that the laugh lines that played around his mouth were genuine enough to put the other man at ease, to coax him into something relaxed. Though it seemed something else was going on, something that lay just outside his reach of understanding. Like a star disappearing once you tried to take a better look at it. 

James knew that he had quite the status in his family, and that his entire demeanor from his heavy combat boots to his strapped leather jacket could come across as intimidating, but for some reason, that did not seem to be the thing that had Blue worry his own lip between his teeth. He wanted to reach out and thumb it loose from its trap, perhaps even cup Blue’s cheek and kiss it better. _That was a thought_. He shook his head, blinking once, twice, gathering his thoughts and giving them order so thinking would come a bit easier to him. 

"You often come here?" he asked then, making a futile attempt not to look at the lip biting all too much, "I don’t think I’ve seen you around much." 

_Make that ‘not at all’._

"Oh, no," Blue answered, breathing out through his smile, hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. The poor lip was released, traded for a vague shrug of a shoulder. James shifted his weight to one leg, tilting his head up just slightly. "I, uh, I haven’t been here before. We were just in the neighborhood."

 _We_. A cold snake slithered low in his stomach, and James’ eyes widened a fraction of their original size, eyebrows twitching. He cleared his throat, conjuring the same, polite smile to his face, leaning back a little, now removing himself from Blue’s space. _Calm down_ , he told himself, taking in a deep breath that reached the bottom of his lungs, making his stance a little bigger. He tried to seem interested, and it was not like he was not curious at all, it was just that he feared the sense of dread in his stomach was right. 

Right about who Blue was with. At best, it was a good friend, someone Blue was just going out with, walking around the city and going out, talking about everything and nothing. At worst… No. James did not even want to think about the worst case scenario. 

Swallowing the harsh tone that threatened to show itself, he asked, as nonchalantly as he knew how, "Having fun with friends?"

"Not exactly. I… uhm…" Blue trailed into silence, his right shoulder twitching as if that was supposed to be a sufficient answer to the question. It worried James to a certain extent. Even though he knew that they were barely more than familiar with each other, his heart did odd things when it was about Blue. His heart would react as if they were together already, aching for him as if they were star crossed lovers, and clenching when anything came between them. 

When Blue evaded the question, his heart did much of the same. It contracted almost painfully, and it was James’ thoughts that turned against him. Though he knew he should not, he felt a certain protectiveness, and Blue not telling him whom he was with made the alarm bells in his head ring as if it was an emergency. He tried to tell himself that the reason behind Blue refusing to tell him whom he was with merely lay with the fact that they did not know each other. The reason was most likely that Blue was simply not comfortable with telling a stranger what he was up to today. It was that, and nothing more. 

Almost as if he could read James’ mind, and decided that he would say the exact opposite of what would ease James’ fluttering worries, Blue took a breath and added fuel to the fire. "I’m here with my boyfriend."

 _Rumlow_. 

"Oh," James said, the one little sigh about the only thing friendly that could come from his mouth, "Rumlow, right?"

Capturing that lip back between his teeth again, averting his eyes a little too nervously to just be a bashful blush, Blue started off to somewhere at their side. There was a shrug to his shoulders, something hesitant, unsure. James briefly turned his head, trying to get a quick peek at whatever it was that so demanded Blue’s sudden attention. A bathroom. 

Drawing in something of a breath, calming the harsh beat of his heart that followed the same frantic pace as the thoughts of his head did. He made an attempt at calming them down, calling them to a halt so he could order them, instead of having them chase around his mind like wild animals. He was not quite successful. Knowing that Rumlow was this close to him, having left Blue by himself in this store, so close to his grasp yet so far away, it urged on the poisonous snake that slithered low in his stomach. 

"Yeah," Blue said then. The young raised a quick hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. James wished he could have done it. He wished he would have been the one to reach out a hand and stroke so gently along those cheeks, swiping his fingers up to the side of Blue’s face, grasping at those soft locks of unruly hair. 

The thing was, poetry had never quite been his thing. 

Surely, he liked metaphors, liked to compare people to certain actions, but he was not a poet. He did not write whole stories in rhyming sentences to proclaim his love or melancholy. He had never really felt anything for poetry either, never thought it to be something he would be interested in. He had never thought some oddly constructed sentences that did not even rhyme could compete with a good book that kept you busy a whole afternoon long, but now… 

Now, James saw the beauty in the descriptions poems had to offer.

Books described worlds and characters, they showed a life you had nothing to do with, and told a story that you would never share, but poems… Poems showed heart in a way books never really could. They were personal to the point they touched a soul in all the right ways, phrasing love and desire and heartache so perfectly, yet they were as general as could be. There were deeper meanings, hidden messages, and certain words James would otherwise never use.

If he had been anything of a poet, James would have written things like ‘Skin sweet as nectar, hair pure and glowing like a halo, eyes bluer than melting icebergs on the deepest oceans’, and more like that. It was good that he was not a poet, or he would have terribly embarrassed himself.

It was just that the man before him, the one sporting a full head of luscious blonde hair and a smile that made James legs go weak faster than plummeting from thousands of feet up high could do, made him feel things. Blue’s body was a sea of curves, gently sloping from his impossibly broad shoulders to his legs, and James wanted a dip. He wanted in, a touch, just some gentle sweet thing that could pass as friendly, as something they shared. 

He wanted to have Blue. Have him all to himself, keep him somewhere the world could never find him again. He wanted to rip Blue away from the dirty paws of Brock Rumlow, the man he carried an unhealthy rage towards. Few were worthy of this ray of sunshine, the one who had a sinful appearance but was sweeter than one could imagine. It was not fair that something so pretty was in the hands of someone so rotten.

"Well, whatever reason it is that you’re here for," James spoke, "I am glad to see you."

And again, Blue bit on his lip, a red blush brushing up his cheekbones. Before he could stop it, James’ mind jumped back to his poems. The sentences he had formed in his mind would not go away, no matter how hard he urged them to. Blue was exactly like one of those devils that came to the Earth to seduce holy men on a mission. It was quite peculiar the seducers seemed to always be women, and the soldiers of God men, while Blue was out there looking like this. 

Those devils in ancient stories of faith were often pictured as beautiful creatures, so elegant yet deadly. Blue was that. He was not a demon in a beautiful form, or here to kill any secret men, but he was like a rose. His red petals as they so stretched to the world the most beautiful of all, with skin soft and golden like nectar and his eyes like the bluest skies, but his thorns drew blood. He was beautiful.

And like a rose, his beauty was beautifully fatal. 

He took a soft breath, blinking to break the spell that had been cast between the two of them. He should probably say something, steer them away from the gaze that was ever-lasting like the horizon far beyond the waves of the ocean. "Natasha told me you’re from Brooklyn," he said then, going in on a whim, grasping at the first thing coming to mind. 

Truth be told, he had not exactly been meaning to ask, as he did not think it was his right to do so, but ever since Natasha had told him the little details she had gathered from _one_ goddamn talk kept ghosting through his head. It was amazing what she could achieve with a simple talk, nothing more than batting her eyelashes and lowering her voice to something sweet. The question had come out before he could stop it. Not that he was particularly sure he wanted to. He was curious. 

"She did, huh?" Blue asked back, something of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. One of his shoulders ticked up into a half shrug. It was rather charming. Sweet like sugar. "It’s true, I am. My ma was Irish, but she moved there when I was a baby. Brooklyn’s pretty much all I ever knew. What about you?"

"Russia," James answered, very aware of how dumb it sounded. As if Russia was not a giant country filled with cities and villages, spread across two continents, "Born, but only partially raised."

"Figured something like that. Where in Russia?"

"M’afraid that’s classified, _moi sladkiy_ ," James said, in a hushed purr of a voice, adding a wink in the hope he would not seem rude for denying to answer the question. 

A laugh bubbled up from Blue’s chest, slipping out through his lips as he threw his head back. There was nothing more relieving than knowing Blue thought he was funny. There was a little roll of Blue’s eyes, something playful that James could appreciate. He wanted to tell Blue, but something kept him from doing so. It would probably not be the best idea, and it was not like Blue would even know much about Russia anyway, so what was the point?

Moving on. 

Knowing the threat of Rumlow walking in on them grew bigger by the moment, as the man would have to exit the bathroom _sometime_ , James knew he had to act quickly. Words ghosted through his head, pooling at the tip of his tongue and he tried to pick out the ones that seemed to be the best. He had to be smart about this, hold back any phrases or strange words that could scare the one before him away. 

Blue was wary of strangers, something he could never be faulted for, but James wished to win his trust.

"I’d like to meet you somewhere," he said, causing Blue to tilt his head up with somewhat of a confused frown. It was nothing short of adorable, and James suppressed the terrible urge to coo softly. "I know a club. Not Midnight 7, another one. I can imagine you would not want to meet in private, but I have to see you again. I would like to talk to you somewhere we will not be… interrupted."

The look on Blue’s face as he turned his head away just slightly, eyes darting back and forth to the bathroom and James, it was clear that the two of them were thinking about the same thing. The same person. James reached for the pocket of his jacket, digging into it to take out his wallet. Black leather, smooth, almost soft beneath his fingertips. He opened it, and pulled out a card. It had golden edges, made of hard plastic. "Here," he said, holding out the card towards Blue, "Duo Phantom. The back entrance. This will get you in."

"I–" Blue said, cutting himself off almost immediately, making no intention to reach out his hand. He stared at the card as if it was dancing and threatening to eat him, looking at it as if it was a trick, something made of poison and meant to stab him in the back with. 

"Take it," James urged, hopefully gently enough, "Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. Would that fit?"

A wordless nod. 

It was just in time, because the moment Blue put the card safely in his pocket was the moment Rumlow decided to show up again. He could already see the man’s eyes widen, eyebrows lowering and fists clenching. Though he would easily win a fight between the two of them – his left hand twitched, metal plates whirring softly as they so shifted – he would rather avoid any kind of strife when Blue was here, watching them, seeing everything.

"Anyhow," James said, clearing his throat, "I better get going."

With that, he nodded at Blue, turned around, and walked towards the door. And like that, his appetite had disappeared completely, the treat burning a hole in his bag. He would not be able to stuff anything through his throat now. A day more, and he would be able to see Blue somewhere it was just the two of them, without the constant pressure and the prying of eyes. 

He could not wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James: I’m not a poet  
> Also James: *waxes poetry whenever he sees Steve* 
> 
> This chapter was surprisingly difficult to make. It was difficult to find the right words and motivation, and I didn’t want to write something I wouldn't like, and I’m worried that it may be boring? I’ve read it a hundred times, so of course it looks boring to me. I’d love to hear from you! 
> 
> As ever, I hoped you enjoyed this, and I’ll see you next chapter!


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